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THE 


EMIGRANTS 

OF 

AHADARRA. 


By  william  CARLETON, 

Author  of  “Valentine  McClutchy/*  “Traits  and  Stories  of  the  Irish 
Peasantry,”  “ Rody  the  Rover,”  “ Art  Maguire,”  “ Willy  Reilly,” 

“ Fardorougha,  the  Miser,”  “ Paddy  Go  Easy,” 

“ The  Black  Prophet,”  “ Black  Baronet,”  &c. 


NEW  YORK : 

D.  & J.  SADLIER  & CO,,  81  BARCLAY  STREET. 

MONTREAL  : — COR.  NOTRE  DAME  AND  ST.  FRANCIS  XAVIER  STS. 


1872. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 

/ 


https://archive.org/details/emigrantsofahadaOOcarl 


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THE 


J EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


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CHAPTER  I. 


A STRONG  farmer's  ESTABLISHMENT  AND  FAMILY. 

It  was  one  summer  morning,  about  nine  o’clock, 
when  a little  man,  in  the  garb  and  trim  of  a mendi- 
cant, accompanied  by  a slender  but  rather  handsome 
looking  girl  about  sixteen,  or  it  may  be  a year  more, 
W’ere  upon  their  way  to  the  house  of  a mail,  who, 
from  his  position  in  life,  might  be  considered  a 
wealthy  agriculiurlst,  and  only  a step  or  two  be- 
neath the  condition  of  a gentleman  farmer,  although 
much  more  plain  and  rustic  in  his  manners.  The 
house  and  place  ha  1 about  them  that  characteristic 
appearance  of  abundance  and  slovtmly  neglect  which 
is,  unfortunately,  almost  peculiar  to  our  country. 
Uhe  house  was  a long  slated  one,  and  stood  u|>on  a 
little  eminence,  about  three  or  four  hursdred  yards 
from  the  highway.  It  was  approaclied  by  a broad 
and  ragged  boreen  or  mock  avenue,  as  it  miglit  be 
called,  that  was  in  very  good  keeping  with  the 


45^ 


8 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


premises  to  which  it  led.  As  you  entered  it  from 
the  road,  you  had  to  pass  tli rough  an  iron  gate, 
which  it  was  a task  to  open,  and  which,  when  opened, 
it  was  another  task  to  shut.  In  conse<|uence  of  this 
difficulty  foot  passengers  had  ma<le  tliemselves  a 
Avay  upon  each  side  of  it,  through  which  they  went 
to  and  came  from  the  house;  and  in  this  they  were 
sanctioned  by  the  example  of  the  family  themselves, 
who,  so  long  as  these  side  paths  were  passable,  mani- 
fested as  much  reluctance  to  open  or  close  the  gate 
as  any  one  else. 

The  month  was  May;  and  notliing  could  be  more 
deliglitful  and  exhilarating  than  the  breeze  which 
played  over  the  green  fields  that  were  now  radiant 
Avith  the  light  which  was  flooded  down  upon  them 
from  the  cloudless  sun.  Around  them,  in  every 
field,  were  the  tokens  of  that  pleasant  labor  from 
which  the  hopes  of  ample  and  abundant  harvests 
always  spring.  Here,  fixed  in  the  ground,  stood  the 
spades  of  a boon^  of  laborers,  who,  as  Avas  evident 
from  that  circumstance,  were  then  at  breakfast:  in 
another  place  might  be  seen  the  plough  and  a por- 
tion of  the  tackle  lying  beside  it,  being  expressive 
of  the  same  fact.  Around  them,  on  every  side,  in 
hedges,  ditches,  green  fields,  and  meadows,  the  birds 
seemed  animated  into  joyous  activity  or  incessant 
battle,  by  the  business  of  nest-building  or  love. 
Whilst  all  around,  from  earth  and  air,  streamed  the 
ceaseless  voice  of  universal  melody  and  song. 

On  reaching  the  gate,  Peety  Dhu  and  liis  pretty 
daughter  turned  up  toAvards  the  house  Ave  have 
* A considerable  number  of  men  working  together. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHABARRA. 


9 


alluded  to — wlilch  was  ihe  residence  of  a man  named 
Burke.  On  re:iching  it  tijey  were  observed  by  a 
couple  of  large  d>»gs,  wlio,  partaking  of  the  hospita- 
ble but  neglected  habits  of  the  family,  first  ap- 
proached and  looked  at  them  for  a moment,  then 
Avag<4ed  their  tails  by  way  of  welcome,  and  imme- 
diately scampered  off  into  the  kitchen  to  forage  for 
themselves. 

Burke’s  house  and  farmyard,  though  strongly  in^ 
dicative  of  wealth  and  abundance  in  the  owner,  were, 
notwithstanding,  evitlenlly  the  property  of  a man 
whose  mind  was  far  back  in  a knowledge  of  agricid- 
ture,  and  the  industrial  pursuits  that  depend  upon 
it.  Ilis  haggard  was  slovenly  in  the  extreme, 
and  his  farmyard  exceedingly  offensive  to  most  of 
the  senses;  everything  lay  about  in  a careless  and 
neglected  manner; — wheelbarrows  without  their 
trundles — sacks  for  days  under  the  rain  that  fell 
from  the  eaves  of  the  houses — other  implements  em* 
bedded  in  mud — car-houses  tumbling  down — the 
pump  without  a handle — the  garden-gate  open,  and 
the  pigs  hard  at  work  destroying  ihe  vegetables,  and 
rooting  up  the  garden  in  all  directions.  In  fact,  the 
very  animals  about  the  house  were  conscious  of  the 
character  of  the  people,  and  acted  accordiiigly.  If 
one  of  the  dogs,  for  instance,  was  hunted  at  the  pigs, 
he  ran  in  an  ap[)arent  fury  towards  that  which  hap- 
pened to  be  nearest  him,  which  merely  lifted  its 
head  and  listened  for  a time — the  dog  with  loud  and 
boisterous  barking,  seizing  its  ear,  led  it  along  for 
three  or  four  yards  in  that  position,  after  which, 
upon  the  pig  demurring  to  proceed  any  further,  he 


10 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA, 


very  quietly  dropped  it  and  trotted  in  again,  leav* 
ing  the  destructive  animal  to  resume  its  depreda- 
tions. 

The  house  inside  bore  the  same  character.  Win- 
ter and  summer  the  hall-door,  which  had  long  lost 
the  knocker,  lay  hospitably  open.  The  parlor  had 
a very  equivocal  appearance;  for  the  furniture, 
tliough  originally  good  and  of  excellent  materials, 
was  stained  and  dinged  and  liacked  in  a manner  that 
denoted  but  little  sense  of  care  or  cleanliness.  Many 
of  the  chairs,  although  not  worn  by  age,  wanted  legs 
or  backs,  evidently  from  ill-usage  alone — the  grate 
was  without  fire-irons — a mahogany  bookcase  that 
stood  in  a recess  to  the  right  ot‘  the  fireplace,  with 
glass  doois  and  green  silk  blinds,  had  the  glass  all 
broken  and  the  silk  stained  almost  out  of  its  original 
color  ; whilst  inside  of  it,  instead  of  books,  lay  a 
heterogeneous  collection  of  old  garden  seeds  in 
brown  paper — an  almanac  of  twenty  years’ standing, 
a dry  ink-bv)ttle,  some  broken  delf,  and  a large  col- 
lection of  blue-moulded  shoes  and  boots,  together 
with  an  old  blister  of  French  flies,  the  lease  of  their 
farm,  and  a great  number  of  tlieir  receipts  for  rent. 
To  crown  all,  the  clock  in  the  other  recess  stood 
cobwebbed  about  the  top,  deprived  of  the  minute 
hand,  and  seeming  to  intimate  by  its  silence  that  it 
had  given  note  of  time’s  progress  to  this  idle  and 
negligent  family  to  no  purpose. 

On  the  drawing-room  stairs  there  lay  what  had 
once  been  a carpet,  but  so  inseparable  had  been  their 
connexion  that  the  stairs  were  now  worn  through  it, 
and  it  required  a sharp  eye  to  distinguish  such  frag* 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


11 


ments  of  it  as  reniained  from  the  color  of  the  dirty 
boards  it  covered  and  the  dust  that  lay  on  both. 

On  entering  the  kitchen,  Peety  and  his  little  girl 
found  thirteen  or  fourteen,  in  family  laborers  and 
servants  of  both  sexes,  seated  at  a long  deal  table, 
oaclj  with  a large  wooden  noggin  of  buttermilk  and 
a spoon  of  suitable  dimensions,  digging  as  if  for  a 
wager  into  one  or  other  of  two  immense  wooden 
bowls  of  stirabout,  so  thick  and  firm  in  consis- 
tency that,  as  the  phrase  goes,  a man  might  dance 
on  it.  Til  is,  however,  was  not  the  only  picture  of 
such  enjoyment  that  the  kitchen  afforded.  Over  be- 
side tiie  dresser  was  turned  upon  one  side  the  huge 
pot  in  which  the  morning  meal  had  been  made,  and 
at  the  bottom  of  which,  inside  of  course,  a spirit  of  ri- 
valry equally  vigorous  and  animated,  but  by  no  means 
so  harmonious,  was  kept  up  by  two  dogs  and  a cou- 
ple of  pig^*,  which  were  squabbling  and  whining  and 
snarling  among  each  other,  whilst  they  tugged  away 
at  tlie  scrapings  or  residuum  that  was  left  behind 
after  the  slirabout  l)ad  been  emptied  out  of  it.  The 
whole  kitchen,  in  fact,  had  a strong  and  healthy  smell 
of  food — the  dresser,  a huge  one,  was  covered  with 
an  immense  quantity  of  pewter,  wood,  and  delf;  and 
it  was  ordy  necessary  to  cast  one’s  eye  towards  the 
chimney  to  perceive  by  tiie  weighty  masses  of  black 
hung  beef  and  the  huge  sides  and  flitches  of  deep 
yellow  bacon  wliich  lined  it,  that  plenty  and  abun- 
dance, even  to  overflowing,  predominated  in  the 
fami  1 y. 

The  “ chimney-brj^ce”  projected  far  out  over  the 
fireplace  towards  the  floor,  and  under  it  on  each  side 


12 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Stretched  two  long  hobs  or  chimney  corner  seats,  on 
which  a nearly  a dozen  persons  could  sit  of  a winter 
evt^niiig.  Mrs.  Burke,  a smart,  good-looking  little 
woman,  though  somewhat  a'lvanced  in  years,  kept 
passing  in  a kind  of  perj^etual  moiion  tVoni  one  part 
of  the  house  to  tl»e  other,  with  a large  bunch  of 
bright  keys  jingling  at  one  side,  and  a huge  house- 
wife pocket  with  a round  pin-cushion  dangling  beside 
it  at  the  otlier.  Jemmy  Burke  himself,  a placid 
though  solemn-faced  man,  was  sitting  on  tlie  hob  in 
question  c -mplac(#illy  smoking  his  pipe,  whilst  over 
tlie  glowing  remnants  of  an  immense  turf  fire  Imng 
a singing  kettle,  and  besi«le  it  on  three  crushed  coals 
was  the  teapot,  ‘‘  waitin’,”  as  the  servants  were  in 
the  habit  of  expressing  it,  “ for  the  masther  and  mis- 
thress’s  breakfast.” 

Peety,  who  was  well  known  and  a great  favorite 
on  his  rounds,  received  a warm  and  liospitable  wel- 
come from  Jemmy  Burke,  who  made  him  and  the 
L'irl  sit  upon  the  iiob,  and  immediately  ordered  them 
breakfast. 

“Here,  Nancy  Devlin,  get  Peety  and  the  girsha 
their  skinfuls  of  stirabout  an’  milk.  Sit  over  to  the 
fire,  alanna,  an’  warm  yourself.” 

“ Warm,  inagh  / ” replied  Peety  ; “ why  sure  it’s 
not  a fire  sich  a blessed  morniu’  as  this  she’d  w^ant 
— an’  a blessed  mornin’  it  is,  glory  be  to  God  ! ” 

“ Troth,  an’  you’re  right,  sure  enough,  Peety,” 
replied  tlie  good-natured  farmer;  “a  blessed  saistm 
it  is  f.)r  gettiii’  down  the  crops.  Go  over  there,  now, 
you  an’  tlie  girsha  to  that  other  table,  an’ — whish  ! 
— kick  them  pigs  an’  dogs  out  o’  the  house,  an’  be 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


13 


d — d to  them  ! One  can’t  hear  their  ears  for  them 
— you  an’  the  girsha^  an’  let  us  see  what  you  can  do. 
Nancy,  achora,  jist  dash  a gawliogue  o’  sweet  milk 
into  tiitir  noggins — tln^y’re  not  like  us  that’s  well 
fed  every  day — it’s  but  seldom  they  get  the  likes, 
the  creatures — so  dash  in  a brave  gawliogue  o’  the 
sweet  milk  for  them.  Take  your  time,  Peety — aisy, 
alanna,  till  you  get  what  I’m  savin’;  it’ll  nourish  an’ 
put  sirinth  in  yon.” 

“Ah,  Misther  Burke,”  replied  Peety,  in  a tone  of 
gratilu  le  peculiar  to  his  class,  “ you’re  the  ould"^ 
man  still — -ever  an’  always  the' large  heart  an’  lavish 
hand  — an’  so  sign’s  on  it — full  an’  plinty  upon  au’ 
about  you — an’  may  it  ever  be  so  wid  you  an’  yours, 
a chierna^  I pray  ! An’  how  is  the  misthress,  sir  ?” 

“Tiiroth,,  she’s  very  well,  Peety — has  no  raison 
to  complain,  thank  God  !” 

“ Thank  God,  indeed  ! and  betther  may  she  be,  is 
my  worst  wish  to  her — an’  Masther  Hycy,  sir? — 
but  I needn’t  ax  how  he  is.  Isn’t  the  whole  c )UMtry 
ringin’  wid  his  praises; — the  blessin’  o’  God  an  you, 
acushla” — his  was  to  Nancy  Devlin,  on  handiijg 
them  the  new  milk — “ draw  over,  darlin,  nearer  to 
the  table — there  now” — this  to  his  daughter,  whom 
he  settled  affectionately  to  her  food.  “ Ay,  indeed,” 
he  proceeded,  “sure  there’s  only  the  one  word  of  it 
over  the  whole  Barony  we’re  sitlin’  in — that  there’s 
neither  fetch  nor  fellow  for  him  through  the  whole 
parish.  Some  peojde,  indeed,  say  that  Byran  M’- 
Mahon  comes  near  him  ; but  only  some,  for  it’s 
given  up  to  Masther  Ilycy  all  to  pieces.” 

♦ That  18  to  gay,  the  same  man  still. 


14 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


^•Fjiix,  an’I  for  one,  altliongh  I’m  his  father— 
amn’t  I,  llosha?”  lie  added,  good  hiimoredly  ad- 
dressing his  wife,  who  had  j ast  come  into  the  kitchen 
from  above  stairs. 

“ Throth,”  said  the  wife,  who  never  replied  with 
good  liunior  unless  when  addressed  as  Mrs,  JBurke^ 
“ you’re  ill  off  for  something  to  speak  about.  How 
are  you,  Peety  ? an^  how  is  your  little  girl?” 

“In  good  healtli,  ma’am,  thank  God  an’^  ; an’ 
very  well  employed  at  the  present  time,  thanks  to 
you  still !” 

To  this  Mrs.  Burke  made  no  reply ; for  it  may  be 
necessary  to  state  here,  that  although  sh^  was  not 
actually  penurious  or  altogether  without  hospitality, 
and  something  that  might  occasionally  be  termed 
charity,  still  it  is  due  to  honest  Jemmy  to  inform 
the  reader  in  the  outset,  that,  as  Peety  Dliu  said, 
“the  large  heart  and  the  lavish  hand”  were  especial- 
ly his  own.  Mrs.  Burke  was  considered  to  have 
been  handsome — indeed  a kind  of  rustic  beauty  in 
her  day— and  like  many  of  that  class  she  had  not 
been  without  a a due  share  of  vanity,  or  perhaps 
we  might  say  coquetry^  if  we  were  to  speak  the 
truth.  Her  teeth  were  good,  and  she  had  a very 
pretty  dimple  in  one  of  her  cheeks  when  she  smiled, 
two  circumstances  which  contributed  strongly  to 
sustain  her  good  humor,  and  an  unaccountable  ten- 
dency to  laughter,  when  the  poverty  of  the  jest  was 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  mirth  that  followed  it. 
Notwithstanding  this  apparently  light  and  agreeable 
spirit,  she  was  both  vulgar  and  arrogant,  and  labor- 
ed under  the  weak  and  ridiculous  ambition  of  being 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


15 


considered  a woman  of  liigh  pretensions,  who  liad 
been  most  unfortunately  thrown  away,  if  not  alto- 
gether  lost,  upon  a husband  whom  she  considered 
as  every  way  unwortliy  of  her.  Her  father  had 
risen  into  the  possession  of  some  unexpected  pro- 
perty wlien  it  was  too  late  to  bestow  upon  her  a 
8uiial)le  education,  and  the  consequence  was  that, 
in  addition  to  natural  vanity  on  the  score  of  beauty, 
she  was  a good  deal  troubled  with  ])urse-pride, 
which,  with  a foolish  susceptibility  of  flattery,  was 
a leading  feature  in  her  disposition.  In  addition  to 
this,  she  was  an  inveterate  and  incurable  slattern, 
though  a gay  and  lively  one;  and  we  need  scarcely 
say  that  whatever  she  did  in  the  shape  of  benevo- 
lence or  charity,  in  most  instances  owed  its  origin 
to  the  influences  of  the  weaknesses  she  was  known 
to  possess. 

• Breakfast,  at  length,  was  over,  and  the  laborers, 
with  an  odd  hiccup  iiere  and  there  among  them 
from  sheer  repletion,  got  their  hats  and  began  to 
proceed  towards  the  farm. 

“Now,  boys,”  said  Jemmy,  after  dropping  a 
spittle  into  his  pipe,  pressing  it  down  with  his  little 
finger,  and  putting  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
“ see  an’  get  them  praties  down  as  soon  as  you  can, 
an’  don’t  work  as  if  you  intended  to  keep  your 
Christmas  there;  an’  Paddy  the  Bounc‘d,  111  thank 
you  to  keep  your  jokes  an’  your  stories  to  yourself, 
an’  not  to  be  idlin’  the  rest  till  afther  your  work’s 
done.  Throtli  it  was  an  uiduckly  day  I had  any- 
thing to  do  wid  you,  j^ou  divartin’  vagabone — ha! 
ha  ! ha  1 When  I hired  him  in  the  Micklemas  fair,” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAIIIIA. 


16 


proceeded  Jemmy,  without  addressing  liimself  to 
any  particular  individual,  “ he  killed  me  wid  laugh- 
in’ to  such  a degree,  that  I couldn’t  refuse  the  'oee- 
liony  whatsoinever  wages  he  axed  ; an’  now  he  has 
the  men,  insteed  o’  mindin’  their  work,  dancin’ 
through  the  lield,  an’  likely  to  split  at  the  fun  he 
tells  them,  ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! Be  oiT,  now,  boys.  Pether 
Murphy,  you  randletree,  let  the  girl  alone.  That’s 
it  Peggy,  lay  on  him;  ha!  devil’s  cure  to  you!  take 
what  you’ve  got  any  way — you  desarve  it.” 

These  latter  observations  were  occasioned  by  a 
romping  match  that  took  place  between  a young 
laborer  and  a good-looking  girl  who  was  employed 
to  drop  potatoes  for  the  men. 

At  lengih  those  who  were  engaged  in  the  labor 
of  the  field  departed  in  a cheerful  group,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  noise  of  a horse’s  feet,  evidently 
proceeding  at  a rapid  trot,  was  heard  coming  up  the 
horeen  or  avenue  towards  the  house. 

“ Ay,”  exclaimed  Burke,  with  a sigh,  there  comes- 
ITycy  at  a trot,  an’  the  wondher  is  it’s  not  a gallop. 
That’s  the  way  he’ll  get  through  life,  I fear;  an’  if 
God  doesn’t  change  him  he’s  more  likely  to  gallop 
liimself  to  the  Staff  an’  Bag"**  than  to  anything  else 
I know  of‘  1 can’t  nor  I won’t  stand  his  extrava- 
gance— but  it’s  his  mother’s  fault,  an’  she’ll  see  what 
it’ll  come  to  in  the  long  run.” 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  when  Ids  son  entered 
the  kitchen,  alternately  singing  and  whistling  the 
Foxhunter’s  jig  in  a manner  that  betokened  exuber- 
ant if  not  boisterous  spirits.  He  was  dressed  in  top 
♦ Beggary. 


n 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAHRA. 


boots,  a green  riding-coat,  yellow  waistcoat,  and 
drab  cassimere  small  clothes — quite  in  jot-key  trim, 
in  fact. 

Ilycy  rather  resembled  his  father  in  the  lineaments 
of  his  face,  and  was,  consequently,  considered  hand- 
some. He  was  about  the  middle  size,  and  remarka- 
bly well  proportioned.  In  fact,  it  would  be  exceed- 
ingly difficult  to  find  a young  fellow  of  manlier 
bearing  or  more  striking  personal  attractions.  His 
features  were  regular,  and  his  complexion  fresli  and 
youthful  looking,  and  altogether  there  was  in  his 
countenance  and  whole  appearance  a cheerful,  easy, 
generous,  unreflecting  dash  of  character  that  not 
only  made  liim  a favorite  on  first  acquaintance,  but 
won  confidence  by  an  openness  of  manner  that  com- 
pletely disarmed  suspicion.  It  might  have  been 
observed,  however,  that  his  laugh,  like  his  mother’s, 
never,  or  at  least  seldom,  came  directly  from  the 
lieart,  and  that  there  was  a hard  expression  about 
his  otherwise  well-formed  mouth,  such  as' rarely  in- 
dicated generosity  of  feeling,  or  any  acquaintance 
wiih  the  kinder  iinpulses  of  our  nature.  He  was  his 
mother’s  pet  and  ffivorite,  and  her  principal  wish 
v/as  that  he  should  be  looked  upon  and  addressed  as 
a gentleman,  and  for  that  purpose  she  encouraged 
liirn  to  associate  with  those  only  whose  rank  and 
position  in  life  render^  d any  assumption  of  equality 
on  his  part  equally  arrogant  and  obtrusive.  In  his 
own  family  his  bearing  towards  his  parents  wa-^,  in 
point  of  fict,  the  reverse  of  what  it  ought  to  have 
been.  He  not  only  treated  his  father  with  some- 
thing bordering  on  contempt,  but  joined  his  mother 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


18 


in  all  that  ignorant  pride  which  kept  her  perpetually 
bewailing  the  fate  by  which  she  was  doomed  to  be- 
come his  wife.  Nor  did  she  herself  come  off  better 
at  his  hands.  Whilst  he  flattered  her  vanity,  and 
turned  her  foibles  to  his  own  advantage,  under  the 
guise  of  a very  duiiiul  affection,  his  deportment 
towards  her  was  marked  by  an  ironical  respect, 
which  was  ihe  more  indefensible  and  unmanly  be- 
cause she  could  not  see  through  it.  The  poor  woman 
liad  taken  up  the  opinion,  that  difficult  and  unintel- 
ligible language  was  one  test  of  a gentleman;  and 
lier  son  by  the  use  of  such  language,  let  no  opportu- 
nity pass  of  confirming  her  in  this  opinion,  and 
eslablishiiig  his  own  claims  to  the  character. 

“ Where  did  you  ride  to  this  morning,  Misther 
Ilycy  ? ” 

“ Down  to  take  a look  at  Tom  Burton’s  mare, 
Crazy  Jane,  ma’am: — 

“ * Away,  my  boys,  to  horse  away, 

The  Chase  admits  of  no  delay — ’ ’’ 

‘^Tom  Burton!”  re-echoed  the  father,  with  a 
groan  ; “ an  so  you’re  in  Tom  Burton’s  hands  ! A 
swindlin’,  horse-dalin’  scoundrel,  that  would  chate 
St.  Pel  her.  Ilycy,  my  man,  if  you  go  to  look  for 
wool  to  Tom  you’ll  come  home  shorn.” 

“ ‘ Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 

Laid  a swiiij^ing;  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown  bowl, 

That  there’s  wrath  and  despair—’ 

Thank  you,  father — much  obliged;  you  entertain  a 
good  o[)inion  of  me.” 

‘•Do  I,  fiith  ? Don’t  be  too  sure  of  that.” 

“ I’ve  bought  her  at  any  rate,”  said  Ilycy — “ thir- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


19 


ty-five’s  the  figure;  but  she’s  a dead  bargain  at 
fifty.” 

“ Bought  her  ! ” exclaimed  the  father ; “ an’  liow, 
in  God’s  name,  do  you  expect  to  pay  for  her?” 

‘‘By  an  order  on  a very  excellent,  worthy  man 
and  genll(*man-farmer — ycleped  James  Burke, 
Esquire — who  Ims  the  honor  of  being  father  to  that 
crnament  of  the  barony,  Hycy  Burke,  the  accom- 
plished. My  worthy  sire  will  fork  out.” 

“ If  I do,  that  I may — ” 

“Silence,  poor  creature  !”  said  his  wife,  clapping 
lier  hand  upon  his  mouth — “ make  no  ra^h  or  vulgar 
oaths.  Sundy,  Misther  Burke — ” 

“How  often  did  I bid  you  not  to  me ? 

Holy  scrapers,  am  I to  be  misthered  and  pesthered 
this  way,  an’  my  name  plane  Jemmy  Burke  ! ” 

“You  see,  Ilycy,  the  vulgarian  will  come  out,” 
said  his  mother.  “I  say,  Misther  Burke,  are  you  to 
see  your  son  worse  mounted  at  the  Herringstown 
Hunt  tliaii  any  other  gentleman  among  them? 
Have  you  no  pride?” 

“ No,  thank  God ! barrin’  that  I’m  an  honest  man 
an’  no  gentleman  ; an’,  as  for  Hycy,  Rosha — ” 

“ Mrs,  Burke^  father,  if  you  please,”  inter- 
posed Hycy;  “remember  who  your  wife  is  at  all 
events.” 

“Faith,  Hycy,  she’ll  come  belter  off  if  I forget 
that  same;  but  I tell  you  that  instead  of  bein’  the 
laughin’-stock  of  the  same  Hunt,  it’s  betune  the  stilts 
of  a plough  you  ought  to  be,  or  out  in  the  fields 
keepin’  the  men  to  their  business.” 

“ I paid  three  guineas  earnest  money,  at  all  events,” 


20 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OE  AHADARRA. 


said  the  son ; “ but  ‘ it  matters  not,’  as  the  preacher 
says— 

“ * AVhen  I wa?  at  home  I was  merry  and  frisky, 

My  dad  kept  a pig  and  my  mother  sold  whiskey’ — 

Beg  pardon,  rnotlier,  no  allusion — my  word  and  honor 
none — to  you  I mean — 

‘My  uncle  was  rich,  but  would  never  be  aisy 
Till  I was  enlisted  by  Corporal  Casey.’ 

Fine  times  in  the  army,  Mr.  Burke,  with  every  pros- 
pect of  a speedy  promotion.  Mother,  my  stomach 
craves  its  matutinal  supply — Fm  in  excellent  con- 
dition for  breakfast.” 

‘‘It’s  ready.  Jemmy,  you’ll — Misther  Burke,  I 
mane — you'll  pay  for  Misther  Ilycy’s  mare.” 

“ If  I do — you’ll  live  to  see  it,  that’s  all.  Give  the 
boy  his  breakwhisht.” 

“Thank  you,  worthy  father — much  obliged  for 
your  generosity — 

“ * Oh,  love  is  the  soul  of  a nate  Trishman — 

He  loves  all  that’s  lovely,  loves  all  that  he  can, 

With  his  sprig  of— ’ 

Ah,  Peety  Dhu,  how  are  you,  my  worthy  peripa- 
tetic ? Why  this  daughter  of  yours  is  getting  quite 
a Hebe  on  our  hands.  JMrs.  Burke,  breakfast — 
breakfast,  madam,  as  you  love  Ilycy,  the  accom- 
plished.” So  saying,  Ilycy  the  accomplished  pro- 
ceeded to  the  parlor  we  liave  described,  followed 
by  liis  maternal  relative,  as  he  often  called  his 
mother. 

‘ Well,  upon  my  word  and  honor,  mother,”  said 
the  aforesaid  Hycy,  who  knew  and  played  upon  his 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


21 


mother’s  weak  points,  “it  is  a sad  thing  to  see  such 
a woman  as  you  are,  married  to  a man  who  has 
neither  the  s})irit  nor  feelings  of  a genileman — my 
word  and  lionor  it  is.” 

“ I feel  that,  Ilycj^  but  there’s  no  help  for  spilt 
milk;  we  must  only  make  the  best  of  a bad  bargain. 
Are  you  coming  to  your  breakfast,”  she  shouted, 
calling  to  honest  Jemmy,  who  still  sat  on  the  hob 
ruminating  with  a kind  of  placid  vexation  over  his 
son’s  extravagance — “ your  tay’s  filled  out ! ” 

“ There  let  it,”  he  replied,  “ I’ll  have  none  of  your 
plash  to-day ; I tuck  my  skinful  of  good  stiff  stir- 
about that’s  worth  a ship-load  of  it.  Drink  it  your- 
selves— I’m  no  gintleman.” 

“ Arrah,  when  did  you  find  that  out,  Misther 
Burke  ? ” she  shouted  back  again. 

“ To  his  friends  and  acquaintances  it  is  anything 
but  a recent  discovery,”  added  Hycy;  and  each 
complimented  the  observation  of  the  other  with  a 
hearty  laugh,  during  which  the  object  of  it  went 
out  to  the  fields  to  join  the  men. 

“Tin  afraid  it’s  no  go,  mother,”  proceeded  the  son, 
wlien  breakfast  was  finished — “ he  won’t  stand  it. 
Ah,  if  both  my  parents  were  of  the  same  geome- 
trical proportion,  there  would  be  little  difficulty  in 
this  business ; but  upon  ray  honor  and  reputation, 
my  dear  motlicr,  I tldnk  between  you  and  me  that 
my  father’s  a gross  abstraction — a most  substantial 
and  ponderous  apparition  ” 

“ An’  didn’t  I know  that  an’  say  tliat  too  all 
along  ?”  replied  his  molhi  r,  c itcliingas  much  of  the 
high  English  from  him  as  she  could  manage:  “how* 


22 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


ever,  lave  the  enumeration  of  the  mare  to  me.  It’ll 
go  hard  or  I’ll  get  it  out  of  him.” 

“It  is  done,”  he  replied  ; “ your stratage tic  powers 
are  great,  my  dear  mother,  consequently  it  is  left  in 
your  hands.” 

Hycy,  whilst  in  the  kitchen,  cast  his  eye  several 
times  upon  the  handsome  young  daughter  of  Peety 
Dhu,  a circumstance  to  which  we  owe  the  instance 
of  benevolent  patronage  now  about  to  be  recorded. 

“ Mother,”  he  proceeded,  “I  think  it  would  be  a 
charity  to  n^scue  that  interesting  little  girl  of  Peety 
Dliu’s  from  a life  of  mendicancy.” 

“ From  a what  ?”  she  asked,  staring  at  him. 

“Why,”  he  replied,  now  really  anxious  to  make 
himself  understood — “ from  the  disgraceful  line  of 
life  he’s  bringing  her  up  to.  You  should  take  her  in 
and  provide  for  her.” 

“When  I do,  Hycy,”  replied  bismother,  bridling, 
“ it  won’t  be  a beggar’s  daughter  nor  a niece  of 
Philip  Hogan’s— sorrow  bit.” 

“As  for  her  being  a niece  of  Hogan’s,  you  know 
it  is  by  liis  napther’s  side ; but  wouldn’t  it  be  a feath- 
er in  her  cap  to  get  under  the  protection  of  a highly 
respectable  woman,  though  ? The  patronage  of  a 
person  like  you,  Mrs.  Burke,  would  be  the  making 
of  her — my  word  and  honor  it  would.” 

“ Hem ! — ahem ! — do  you  think  so,  Hycy?” 

“ Tut,  mother — that  indeed  ! — can  there  by  a 
doubt  about  it  ? ” 

“ Well  then,  in  that  case,  I think  she  may  stay — 
that  is,  if  the  father  will  consent  to  it.” 

“ Thank  you,  mother,  for  that  example  of  protec- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


23 


tion  and  benevolence.  I feel  that  all  my  virtues 
certainly  proceed  from  your  side  of  the  house  and 
are  derived  from  yourself — there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
that.” 

‘‘Indeed  I think  so  myself,  Hycy,  for  where  else 
would  you  get  them  ? You  have  the  M’Swiggin 
nose  ; an’  it  can’t  be  from  any  one  else  you  take  your 
high  notions.  All  you  show  of  the  gentleman,  Hycy, 
it’s  not  hard  to  name  them  you  have  it  from,  I be- 
lieve.” 

“ Spoken  like  a Sybil.  Mother,  within  the  whole 
range  of  ray  female  acquaintances  I don’t  know  a 
woman  that  has  in  her  so  much  of  the  gentleman  as 
yourself — ^my  word  and  honor,  mother.” 

“ Behave,  Ilycy — behave  now,”  she  replied,  sim- 
pering ; “ however  truth’s  truth,  at  any  rate.” 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  the  poor  mendicant 
was  delighted  at  the  notion  of  having  his  daughter 
placed  in  the  family  of  so  warm  and  independent  a 
man  as  Jemmy  Burke.  Yet  the  poor  little  fellow 
did  not  separate  from  the  girl  without  a strong  man- 
ifestation of  the  affection  he  bore  her.  She  was  his 
only  child — the  humble  but  solitary  flower  that 
blossomed  for  him  upon  the  desert  of  life. 

“ I lave  her  wid  you,”  he  said,  addressing  Mrs* 
Burke  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  “ as  the  only  treasure 
an’  happiness  I have  in  this  world.  She  is  the  poor 
man’s  lamb,  as  I have  hard  read  out  of  Scripture 
wanst ; an’  in  lavin’  her  undlier  your  care,  I lave  all 
my  little  hopes  in  this  world  wid  her.  I trust,  ma’am, 
you’ll  guard  her  an’  look  afther  her  as  if  she  was  one 
of  your  own.” 


24 


THE  EMIGBANTS  OE  AHADARRA. 


This  unlucky  allusion  might  have  broken  up  the 
whole  contemplated  arrangement,  had  not  llycy 
stepped  in  to  avert  from  Peety  the  offended  pride  of 
the  patroness. 

“ Ihope,  Peety,”  he  said,  ‘‘that  you  are  fully  sen- 
sible of  the  honor  Mrs.  Burke  does  you  and  your 
daughter  by  taking  the  girl  under  her  protection 
and  patronage?” 

“I  am,  God  knows.” 

“And  of  the  advantage  it  is  to  get  her  near  so 
respectable  a woman — so  hlghlj  respectable  a wo- 
man ? ” 

“ I am,  in  throth.” 

“And  that  it  may  be  the  making  of  your  daugh- 
ter’s fortune  ? ” 

“ It  may,  indeed,  Masther  Hycy.” 

“ And  that  there’s  no  other  woman  of  high  re- 
spectability in  the  parish  capable  of  elevating  her 
to  the  true  principles  of  double  and  simple  propor- 
tion ? ” 

“ No,  in  throth,  sir,  I don’t  think  there  is.” 

“ Nor  that  can  teach  her  the  newest  theories  in 
dogmatic  theology  and  metaphysics,  together  wiih 
the  whole  system  of  Algebraic  Equations  if  the  girl 
should  require  them  ? ” 

“Divil  another  woman  in  the  barony  can  match 
her  at  them  by  all  accounts  ” replied  Peety,  catching 
the  earnest  enthusiasm  of  Hycy’s  manner. 

“That  will  do,  Peety;  you  see  yourself,  mother,” 
he  added,  taking  her  aside  and  speaking  in  a low 
voice,  “ that  the  little  fellow  knows  right  well  the 
advantages  of  having  her  under  your  care  and  pro- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


25 


tection;  ami  it’s  very  much  to  his  credit,  and  speaks 
very  higiily  for  his  metempyschosis  that  he  does  so 
— hem ! ” 

‘‘He  was  always  a daicent  sinsible  poor  creature 
of  liis  kind,”  replied  his  mother;  “ besides,  Hycy, 
between  you  and  me,  she’ll  be  more  than  worth  her 
bit.” 

“There  now,Peety,”  said  her  son,  turning  towards 
the  mendicant;  “it’s  all  settled — wait  now  for  a 
minute  till  I write  a couple  of  notes,  which  you 
must  deliver  for  me.” 

Peety  sat  accordingly,  and  commenced  to  lay 
down  for  his  daughter’s  guidance  and  conduct  such 
instructions  as  he  deemed  suitable  to  the  situation 
she  was  about  to  enter,  and  the  new  duties  that 
necessarily  devolved  upon  her. 

In  due  time  Ilycy  appeared,  and  placing  two  let- 
ters in  Peety’s  haiids,  said — “ Go,  Peety,  to  Gerald 
Cavanagh’s,  of  Fenton’s  Farm,  and  if  you  can  get 
an  opportunity,  slip  that  note  into  Kathleen’s  hands 
— this,  mark,  with  the  corner  turned  down — you 
won’t  forget  that?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“Very  well — you’re  then  to  proceed  to  Tom  M’- 
Mahon’s,  and  if  you  find  Bryan  bis  son  there,  give 
liim  this ; and  if  he’s  at  the  mountain  farm  of  Aha- 
darrn,  go  to  him.  I don’t  expect  an  answer  from 
K iihle*  n Cavanagh,  but  I do  from  Byran  M’Mahon ; 
and  mark  me,  Peety.” 

“ I do,  sir.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  do  ? ” 

“ Sartin,  sir.” 


2 


2&  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA, 

**  Silent  as  tbe  grave  then  is  the  word  in  both 
cases^but  if  I ever  hear — ” 

“ That’s  enough,  Masther  Hycy  ; when  the  grave 
spates  about  it  so  will  1.” 

Peefcy  took  the  letters  and  disappeared  with  an 
air  rendered  important  by  the  trust  reposed  in  him; 
whilst  Mrs.  Burke  looked  inquiringly  at  her  son,  as 
if  her  curiosity  were  a good  deal  excited. 

“ One  of  them  is  to  Kate  or  Kathleen  Cavan agli, 
as  they  call  her,”  said  H^'cy  in  reply  to  her  looks  ; 

and  the  other  for  Bryan  M’Mahon,  who  is  soft  and 
generous — prohatum  est,  I want  o know  if  he’ll 
stand  for  thirty-five — and  as  for  Kate,  I’m  making 
love  to  her,  you  must  know.” 

“Kathleen  Cavan agh,’M-eplied  his  mother;  “I’ll 
never  lend  my  privileges  to  sich  a match.”  ^ 

“Match!”  exclaimed  Hycy,  (oolly. 

“ Ah,”  she  replied  warmly  ; “ match  or  marriage 
will  never — ” 

“ Marriage  1 ” he  repeated,  “ why,  my  most  amia- 
ble maternal  relative,  do  you  mean  to  insinuate  to 
Hycy  the  accomplished,  that  he  is  obliged  to  pro- 
pose either  match  or  marriage  to  every  girl  he  makes 
love  to  ? What  a prosaic  world  you’d  have  of  it, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Burke.  This,  ma’am,  is  only  an  agree- 
able flirtation — not  but  that  it’s  possible  there  may 
be  something  in  the  shape  of  a noose  matrimonial 
dangling  in  the  backg  ound.  She  combines,  no 
doubt,  in  her  uniivalle.l  person,  th^  qualities  of 
Hebe,  Venus,  and  Diana — Hebe  in  youth,  Venus  in 
beauty,  and  Diana  in  wisdom  ; so  it’s  said,  but  I 


THE  EMIGftAI^TS  OE  AHAPARRA. 


27 


trust  incorrectly,  as  respects  07ie  of  them — good- 
bye, mother — try  your  influence  as  louching  Crazy 
Jane,  and  report  fcivorably — 

“ Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

’Twill  chase  the  i)easive  tear,  &c.” 


23 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  II. 

GERALD  CAVANAGII  AND  HIS  FAMILY. TOM  m’mAIION’s 

RETURN  FROM  DUBLIN. 

The  liousft  of  Gerald  Cavanagli,  tliongli  not  so 
large  as  that  of  our  kind-lieaiTed  fiieiid,  Jemmy 
Burke,  was  a good  sperimeii  of  what  an  Irish  farm- 
er’s resilience  ottfjht  to  he.  It  was  distant  from 
Burke’s  somevvliat  better  thati  two  miles,  auil  stood 
almost  immediately  inside  the  higliway,  U[)()n  a slop- 
ing  green  tint  was  vernal  throtigh  the  year.  It  was 
in  the  cottage  style,  in  the  form  of  a cross,  with  a 
roof  ornamentally  thatched,  and  was  flanked  at  a 
little  distance  by  the  office-houses.  The  grass  was 
always  so  close  on  this  green,  as  to  have  rather  the 
appearance  of  a well  kept  lawn.  The  thorn-trees 
stood  in  front  of  it,  clipped  in  the  sliape  of  round 
tables,  on  one  of  which,  exposed  to  all  weathers, 
niigliL  be  seen  a pair  of  largo  churn-si ave**,  bleached 
into  a wliite  fresh  color,  that  c ui'^ed  a person  to  long 
for  the  butter  they  made.  On  the  other  stood  a 
large  cage,  in  which  was  imprisoned  a blackbird, 
whose  extraordinary  melody  liad  become  proverbial 
in  the  neighborhood.  Down  a little  to  the  right  of 
the  hall  door,  a prelty  winding  gravelled  paihway 
led  to  a clear  spiing  well  that  was  overshadowed  by 
a spreading  \^  hiiethorn  ; and  at  each  gable  stood  a 
graceful  elder  or  mountain-a’<h,  whose  red  berries 
during  the  autumn  had  a fine  eflect,  and  contrasted 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


29 


well  with  the  mass  of  darker  and  larger  trees,  l)y 
wlncli  tlie  back  portion  of  ibe  lionse  and  tlio  offices 
was  almost  concealed.  Botii  the  h »use  and  given 
were  in  an  elevated  position,  and  commanded  a de- 
lightful expanse  of  rich  meadows  to  the  extent  of 
nearly  one  hnndivd  acres,  tliroiigh  which  a plicid 
river  wound  its  easy  way,  like  some  contented  spirit 
that  glides  calmly  and  happily  through  the  gentle 
vicissitudes  of  an  untroubled  life. 

-As  Peety  Dim,  whilst  ]>assing  from  the  residence 
of  our  friend  Jemmy  Burke  to  that  of  Gerald  Cava- 
nagh,  considered  him^elt  in  his  vocation,  the  reader 
will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  tliat  it  was  considerably 
past  noon  when  lie  arrived  at  Fenton’s  Farm;  for 
by  this  name  the  property  was  known  on  a portion 
of  which  the  Cavauaghs  lived.  It  might  be  about 
the  hours  of  two  or  three  o’clock,  when  Peety,  on  ar- 
riving at  the  gate  wliich  led  into  Cavanagh’s  house, 
very  fortunately  saw  his  daughter  Kathleen,  in  the 
act  of  feeding  the  blackbird  aforementioned;  and 
prudently  deeming  this  the  best  opportunity  of  ac- 
complishing his  mission,  he  beckoned  her  to  ap- 
j^roach  him.  The  good-natured  girl  did  so  : saying 
at  tlie  same  time — “What  is  tlie  matter,  IVety? — 
do  you  w'ant  me?  Won’t  you  come  into  the 
kitchen  ? ” 

“Thank  you,  avourneen,  but  I can’t;  I did  want 
you,  but  it  was  only  to  give  you  this  letther.  I sup- 
pose it  will  tell  you  all.  Oh,  thin,  is  it  any  wondher 
that  you  siiould  get  it,  an’  tliat  half  the  parish  should 
be  dyin’  in  love  wid  you?  for,  in  throth,it’s  enough 
to  make  an  ould  man  feel  young  agin  even  to  look 


so 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


at  yon.  I was  afraid  they  might  see  me  givin’  you 
the  lettlier  from  the  windy,  and  that’s  what  made 
me  sign  to  you  to  come  to  me  here.  Good-bye,  a 
colleen  dhas*'*^ — an’ it's  you  that's  that^wvQ  enough.” 

The  features,  neck,  and  bosom  of  the  girl,  on  re- 
ceiving tliis  communication,  were  overspread  with 
one  general  blush,  and  slie  stood,  for  a few  moments, 
iriesolute  and  confuse<l.  In  the  mean  lime  Peety 
had  pa-^sed  on,  and  alter  a pause  of  a few  minuti^s, 
she  looked  at  the  letter  more  attentivtdy,  an  I slowly 
broke  it  open.  It  was  probably  the  first  epist  le  she 
liad  ever  received,  and  we  need  scarcely  say  lliat,  as 
a natural  consequence,  she  was  by  no  means  quick 
ill  deciphering  written  hand.  Be  this  as  it  m ty, 
after  liaving  persued  a few  lines  she  started,  looked 
at  the  bottom  for  the  name,  then  at  the  letter  again  ; 
and  as  her  sister  llanna  joined  her,  that  brow  on 
which  a frown  had  been  seldom  ever  seen  to  sit,  was 
now  crimson  with  indignation. 

“Why,  gracious  goodness!”  exclaimed  Hanna, 
“what  is  this,  Kathleen?  Something  has  vexed 
you! — ha!  a love-letter,  too!  In  airne-t,  what 
ails  you  ? an’  who  is  the  letter  from,  if  it’s  fair  to 
ax  ? ” 

“ The  letter  is  not  for  me,”  replied  Kathleen,  put- 
ting it  into  lier  sister's  hand,  “but  when  you  read 
it  you  won’t  wonder  that  I’m  angry.” 

As  llanna  began  to  go  slowly  throiigli  it,  she  first 
laughed,  but  on  proceeding  a little  further  her  brow 
also  reddened,  and  her  whole  features  expressed  deep 
and  unequivocal  resentment.  Having  concluded  the 
* Pretty  girl. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


31 


perusal  of  lliis  mysterious  document,  she  looked  at 
lier  sisU  r,  wlio,  in  return,  gazed  upon  her. 

“Well,  Kathleen,  after  all,”  said  JIanna,  “it’s  not 
■worth  wliile  losing  one's  temper  about  it.  Never 
think  of  it  again  ; only  to  punish  him,  Td  advise 
you,  the  next  lime  you  see  Peety,  to  send  it  back.” 

“You  don't  suppose,  Hanna,  that  I intended  to 
keep  it;  but  indee«l,”  she  addt-d,  wiih  a smile;  “it 
is  not  worth  while  bein’  angry  about.” 

As  tlie  sisters  stood  beside  each  other,  holding 
this  sliort  conversation,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
any  two  females  more  strikitigly  dissimilar  both  in 
figure,  features,  and  complexion.  Hanna  was  plain, 
but  not  disagreeable,  especially  when  her  face  be- 
came animated  with  good  humor.  Her  complexion, 
thougli  not  at  all  of  a sickly  hue,  was  of  that  midille 
tint  which  is  neither  pale  nor  sallow,  but  holds  an 
equivocal  position  between  both.  Her  hair  was 
black,  but  d«ill,  and  without  that  peculiar  gloss 
which  accompanies  either  the  very  snowy  skin  of  a 
fair  beauty,  or,  at  least,  the  rich  brown  hue  of  a 
brunette.  Her  Hgure  was  in  no  way  remarkable,  and 
she  was  rather  under  the  middle  size. 

Her  sister,  however,  was  a gitl  who  deserves  at 
our  hands  a more  accurate  and  lengthened  descrip- 
tion. Kathleen  Cavanagh  was  considerably  above 
the  middle  size,  her  figure,  in  fact,  being  of  the 
tallest ; but  no  earthly  form  could  surpass  it  in  sym- 
metry, and  ih  it  v lupiuous  fulness  of  outline,  which, 
when  associated  with  a modest  and  youthful  style 
of  beauty,  is,  of  all  others,  the  most  fascinating  and 
irresistible.  The  whiteness  of  her  unrivalled  skin, 


S2 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


and  the  gloss  of  health  which  shone  fr.>m  it  were 
almost  dazzling.  Her  full  bust,  which  literal  I y 
glowed  with  light  and  warnilh,  was  mouhb'd  with 
inimitable  proportion,  and  the  masses  of  rich  brown 
hair  that  shaded  her  white  and  expansive  forehead, 
added  incredible  attractions  to  a face  tliat  was  re- 
markable not  only  for  simple  beauty  in  its  finest 
sense,  but  that  divine  charm  of  ever-varying  expres- 
sion which  draws  its  lights  and  shadows,  and  the 
thousand  graces  with  whicli  it  is  accompanied, 
directly  from  the  lieart.  Her  dark  eyes  were  large 
and  flashing,  and  reflected  liy  the  vivacity  or 
melancholy  which  increased  or  over-shadowed  their 
lustre,  all  those  joys  or  sorrows,  and  various  shades 
of  feeling  by  which  she  was  moved,  whilst  her  mouth 
gave  indication  of  extraordinary  and  entrancing 
sweetness,  especially  when  she  smiled. 

Such  was  Kathleen  Cavnnagh,  the  qualities  of 
whose  mind  were  still  superior  to  the  advantages  of 
her  person.  And  yet  she  shone  not  forth  at  tlie  first 
view,  nor  immediately  dazzled  the  beholder  by  the 
brilliancy  of  her  charms.  Siie  was  unquestionably 
a tall,  fine  looking  country  girl,  tastefully  and  ap- 
propriately dressed  ; but  it  was  necessary  to  see  her 
more  than  once,  and  to  have  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
amining her,  time  after  time,  to  be  able  fully  to  ap- 
preciate the  surprising  character  of  her  beauty,  and 
the  incredible  variety  of  those  changes  which  sus- 
tain its  power  and  give  it  perpetual  novelty  to  the 
heart  and  eye.  It  was  in  fact,  of  that  dangerous 
description  which  improves  on  inspection,  and  grad- 
ually develops  itself  upon  the  beholder,  until  he  feels 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


33 


tlie  full  extent  of  its  influence,  and  is  sensible,  per- 
haps, when  loo  late,  tba:  he  is  its  helpless  and  unre- 
sisting victim. 

Around  the  two  thorn-trecs  we  have  alluded  to 
were  built  circular  seats  of  the  grassy  turf,  on  which 
the  two  sisters,  each  engaged  in  knitting,  now  sat 
chatting  an  1 laughing  with  that  unrestrained  good 
liuinor  and  lixiniliarity  which  gave  unquestionable 
])roof  of  the  mutual  confidence  and  alfection  that 
subsisted  between  tliem.  Tneir  natural  tempers 
and  dispositions  were  as  dissimilar  as  their  persotis. 
Hanna  was  lively  and  mirthful,  somewhat  hasty, 
but  placable,  quick  in  her  feelings  of  either  joy  or 
sorrow,  and  apparently  not  susce|)tible  of  deep  or 
permanent  impressions;  whilst  Kathleen,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  serious,  quiet,  and  placid — difficult 
to  be  provoked,  ol  great  sweetness  of  temper,  with 
a tinge  of  melancholy  that  occasionally  gave  an 
irresistible  charm  to  her  voice  and  features,  when 
conversing  upon  any  subject  that  was  calculated  to 
touch  the  heart,  or  in  which  she  felt  deeply.  Unlike 
her  sister,  she  was  resolute,  firm,  and  almost  immu- 
table in  her  resolutions ; but  that  was  because  her 
resolutions  were  seldom  hasty  or  unadvised,  but  the 
result  of  a strong  feeling  of  rect  itude  and  great  good 
sense.  It  is  true  she  possessed  high  feelings  of  self- 
respect,  together  with  an  enthusiaslic  love  for  her 
religion,  and  a most  earnest  zeal  for  its  advance- 
ment; indeed,  so  slroiigly  did  these  predominate  in 
hei  mind,  that  any  act  involving  a personal  slight 
towards  herselfj  or  indiflerence  to  her  creed  and  its 
propagation,  were  looked  upon  by  Kathleen  as  crimes 


84 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAREA. 


for  which  there  was  no  forgi  veness.  If  she  had  any 
failings,  it  was  in  these  two  points  they  lay.  But, 
at  the  same  time,  we  are  bound  to  say,  that  if  the 
courage  and  enthusiasm  of  Joan  of  Arc  had  been 
demanded  of  her  by  the  state  and  condiiion  of  lier 
country  and  her  creed,  she  would  have  unquestion- 
ably sacrificed  her  life,  if  the  sacrifice  secured  the 
prosperity  of  either. 

Something  of  their  difference  of  temperament 
might  have  been  observed  during  their  conversation, 
Avhile  sitting  under  the  white  thorn.  Every  now 
and  then,  for  instance,  Hanna  would  start  up  and  com- 
mence a series  of  little  flirtations  with  the  blai  k-bird, 
which  she  called  her  sweetheart,  and  again  resume 
her  chat  and  seat  as  befn-e;  or  she  would  attempt 
to  catch  a butterfly  as  it  fluttered  about  her,  or  some- 
times give  it  pursuit  over  half  the  green,  whilst 
Kathleen  sat  with  laughing  and  delighted  eyes,  and 
a smile  of  unutterable  sweetness  on  her  lips,  watch- 
ing the  success  of  this  innocent  frolic.  In  this  situ- 
ation  we  must  now  leave  them,  to  follow  Peety,  who 
is  on  his  way  to  deliver  the  other  letter  to  Bryan 
ll'Mahon. 

Our  little  black  Mercury  was  not  long  in  arriving 
at  the  house  of  Tom  M’Mahon,  which  he  reached  in 
in  company  with  that  worthy  man  himself,  whom  he 
happened  to  overtake  near  Carriglass  where  he 
lived.  M’Mahon  semed  fatigued  and  travel- worn, 
and  cotisequently  was  proceeding  at  a slow  pace 
when  Peety  overtook  him.  The  latter  observed 
this. 

“ Why,  thin,  Tom,”  said  he,  after  the  first  saluta- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


35 


lions  had  passed,  yon  look  like  a man  that  had  jist 
put  a tough  journey  over  him.” 

“An’  80  I ought.,  Peety,”  he  replied,  “for  I have 
put  a tougli  journey  over  me.” 

“Miislia  wliere  were  you,  thin,  if  it’s  fair  to  ax  ?” 
inquired  Peety;  “for  as  for  me  tiiat  hears  every- 
thing almost,  the  never  a word  I heard  o’  this.” 

“1  was  in  Dublin,  thin,  all  tlie  way,”  replied  the 
farmtT,  “ sti  ivin’  to  get  a renewal  o’  my  hdse  from 
ould  Squire  Clievydale,  the  la«idlord  ; an’  upon  my 
snugiriiis,  Peety,  you  may  call  a journey  to  Dublin 
an’  home  agin  a tough  one — devil  a doubt  of  it. 
However,  thank  God,  here  we  are  at  home;  an’ 
blessed  be  11  is  name  that  we  liave  a home  to  come 
to;  for,  alther  all,  what  place  is  like  it?  Throth, 
Peety,  my  heart  longed  for  these  brave  fields  of 
ours — for  the  lough  there  below,  and  the  wild  hills 
above  us  ; for  it  wasn’t  until  I was  away  from  them 
that  I felt  how  strong  the  love  of  them  was  in  my 
heart.” 

M’Mahon  was  an  old  but  hale  man,  with  a figure 
and  aspect  that  were  much  above  tiie  common  order 
even  of  the  betUr  class  of  peasants.  There  could  be 
no  mistaking  the  decent  and  composed  spirit  of  in- 
tegrity which  was  evident  in  his  very  manner;  and 
there  was  something  in  his  long  flowing  locks,  now 
tinged  with  grey,  as  they  rested  upon  liis  shoulders, 
that  gave  an  air  of  singular  respect  to  his  whole 
app<'arauce. 

On  uttering  the  last  words  he  stood,  and  looking 
around  him  became  so  much  afiected  that  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  “Ay,”  said  he,  “ thank  God  that 


36 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


we  have  our  ]»lace  to  come  to,  an’  that  we  will  still 
have  it  to  come  to,  and  blessed  be  His  name  for  all 
tilings!  Come,  Peety,”  he  abided,  alter  a pause, 
“let  us  see  how  they  all  are  inside;  rni  longin’  to 
see  them,  especially  poor,  dear  Dora;  an’ — God 
bless  me!  here  she  is! — no,  she  ran  back  to  tell 
them — but  ay — oh,  ay  ! here  she  is  again,  ray  darliii’ 
girl,  cornin’  to  meet  me.” 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  an 
interesting,  slender  girl,  about  eighteen,  blushing, 
and  laughing,  and  crying,  all  at  once,  came  hying 
towards  him,  and  throwing  her  while  arms  about 
his  neck,  fell  upon  his  bosom,  kissed  him,  and  wept 
with  delight  at  his  return. 

“ An’  so,  father  dear,  you’re  back  to  us  ! My 
gracious,  we  thought  you’d  never  come  home! 
Sure  you  worn’t  sick  ? We  thought  maybe  that 
you  took  ill,  or  that — that — something  happened 
you;  and  we  wanted  to  send  Bryan  alter  you — but 
nothing  happened  you  ?— nor  you  worn’t  sick  ? ” 

“ You  alFectionate,  foolish  darlin’,  no,  1 wasn’t 
sick;  nor  nothing  ill  happened  me,  Dora.” 

“ Oh,  thank  God  ! Look  at  them,”  she  proceeded, 
directing  his  attention  to  the  house,  “ look  at  them 
all  crowdin’  to  the  door — and  here’s  Shibby,  too, 
and  Bryan  himself — an’  see  my  m ther  ready  to  lep 
out  of  herselt*  wid  pure  joy — the  Lord  be  praised 
that  you’re  safe  back  ! ” 

At  this  moment  his  second  daughter  ran  to  him, 
and  a repetition  of  welcome  similar  to  that  which  he 
received  from  Dora  took  jdace.  Ilis  son  Bryan 
grasped  his  hand,  and  said,  whilst  a tear  stood  even 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


37 


in  his  eye,  that  he  was  glad  to  see  liim  safe  home. 
The  ohl  man,  in  return,  grasped  liis  hand  wiili  an 
cx])ressi()ii  ot  deep  feeling,  and  after  liaving  inquired 
if  they  had  been  all  well  in  liisabsence,  lie  proceedeil 
with  tlioni  to  llie  liouse.  Here  tlie  scene  w^as  still 
more  interesting.  Mrs.  M’Mahon  stood  smiling  at 
the  door,  but  as  lie  came  near,  she  was  obliged 
once  or  twice  to  wi[>e  away  the  tears  with  the  cor- 
ner of  lier  handkerchief.  We  have  often  observed 
how  much  fervid  pivty  is  mingled  with  the  affections 
of  the  Iri'h  people  when  in  a state  of  excitement; 
and  this  meeting  between  the  old  man  and  his  wife 
presented  an  addiiional  proof  of  it. 

Blessed  be  God  ! ” exclaimed  his  wife,  tenderly 
embracing  him,  “blessed  be  God,  Tom  darlin’,  that 
you’re  safe  back  to  us  ! An’  how  are  you,  avourneen  ? 
an’  wor  you  well  ever  since?  an’  there  was  nothing 
— musha,  go  out  o’  this.  Ranger,  you  thief — och, 
God  forgive  me!  what  am  I savin’?  sure  the  poor 
dog  is  as  glad  as  the  best  of  us — arrah,  thin,  look  at 
the  affectionate  crathur,  a’most  beside  liimself! 
Dora,  avillish^  give  him  the  could  stirabout  that's 
in  the  skillet,  jist  for  liis  affection,  the  ciatliur. 
Hero,  Ranger — Ranger,  I say — oh  no,  sorra  one’s  in 
the  bouse  now  but  yourself,  Tom.  Well,  an’  there 
W’as  nothing  wrong  \vid  you  ?” 

“ Nothin’,  Nancy,  thanks  be  to  the  Almighty — 
down,  poor  frlh)\v — there  now.  Ranger — och,  behave, 
you  foolish  dog — musha,  see  this!  ” 

“ Tiiroth,  Tom,”  continued  his  loving  wdfe,  “let 
wdiat  will  liappen,  it’s  the  last  journey  ever  we’ll  let 
you  take  from  us.  Ever  an’  ever,  there  xve  wor 


S8 


THE  EMTGEANTS  OE  AHADARRA, 


tlii  likin’  an’  think  in’  a Ihonsand  things  about  you. 
Atone  time  that  something  happened  you;  then 
that  you  Tell  sick  an’  liad  none  but  strangers  about 
you.  Tliroth  we  won’t ; let  what  will  liappen,  you 
must  stay  wid  us.” 

“ Indeed  an’  I never  kneion  how  I loved  the  place, 
an’  you  a 1,  till  I w^ent;  but,  thank  God,  I hope  it’s 
the  last  journey  ever  I’ll  have  to  take  from  either 
you  or  it.” 

“Siiib  y,  run  down  to — or  do  you,  Dora,  go, 
you’re  the  soapiest — to  Paddy  Mullen’s  and  Jemrny 
Kelly’s,  and  the  rest  of  the  neighbors,  an’  tell  them 
to  come  up,  that  yonr  father’s  home.  Run  now, 
acu^hla,  an’  if  you  fall  don’t  wait  to  rise;  an’  Shib- 
by,  darlin’,  do  you  whang  dov^n  a lot  o’  that  bacon 
into  rashers,  your  father  must  be  at  death’s  door  wid 
liunger  ; but  wasn’t  it  well  that  I thought  of  having 
the  whisky  in,  for  you  see  afther  Thursday  last  we 
didn’t  know  what  minute  you’d  dhrop  in  on  us,  Tom, 
an’  I said  it  was  best  to  be  prepared.  Give  Peety 
a chair,  the  crature  ; come  forrid,  Peety,  an’  take  a 
sate;  an’  how  are  you?  an’  how  is  the  girsha  wid 
y u,  an’  where  is  she  ? ” 

To  these  questhms,  thus  rapidly  put,  Peety  re- 
turned suitable  answers;  but  indeed  Mrs.  M’Mahon 
did  not  wait  to  listen  to  them,  having  gone  to 
another  room  to  produce  the  whisky  she  had  pro- 
vided fv)r  the  occasion. 

“Here,”  she  said,  re-appearing  with  a huge 
bottle  in  one  hand  and  a glass  in  the  other,  “ a sip 
o’  the  right  sort  will  help  you  afther  your  long 
journey  ; you  must  be  tired,  be  coorse,  so  take  this.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAIIRA. 


39 


“Aisy,  llndget,”  exclaimed  licr  husband,  “ don’t 
fill  it;  yoii’ii  make  me 

“Throth  an’  I will  fill  it,”  slie  replied, ‘‘ ay,  an’ 
put  a heap  on  it.  Tiiere  now,  finish  that  bumper.” 

The  old  man,  with  a smiling  and  happy  face,  re- 
ceived the  glass,  and  taking  his  wile’s  liand  in  his 
looked  at  her,  and  then  upon  them  all,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  emotion.  “Bridget,  your  health; 
childre’,  all  your  healths;  and  here’s  to  Cirriglavss, 
an’  may  we  long  live  happy  in  it,  as  we  will,  plase 
God  ! Peety,  not  forgettiii’  you ! ” 

We  need  hardly  say  that  the  glass  went  round, 
nor  that  Peety  was  not  omitted  in  the  hospitality 
any  more  than  in  the  toast. 

“Here,  Bryai»,”  said  Mrs.  M’Mahon,  “lay  that 
bottle  on  the  dresser,  it’s  not  worth  while  puttin’  it 
past  till  tlie  neighbors  comes  up ; an’  its  they 
that’ll  be  the  glad  neighbors  to  see  you  safe  back 
agin,  Tom.” 

In  this  she  spoke  truth.  Honest  and  hearty  was 
the  welcome  lie  received  from  them,  as  with  spark* 
ling  eyes  and  a warm  grasp  they  greeted  him  on  Ids 
return.  Not  only  had  Pad<ly  Mulliii  and  Jemmy 
Kelly  run  up  in  haste — the  latter,  who  had  been  dig- 
ging in  his  garden,  without  waiting  to  put  on  his 
hat  or  coat — but  otlier  families  in  the  neighborhood, 
young  and  old,  crowded  in  to  welcome  him  home — 
from  Dublin — for  in  that  lay  the  principal  charm, 
Tl»e  bottle  was  again  [iroduced,  and  a holiday  spirit 
now  prevailed  among  them.  Questions  upon  ques- 
tions were  put  to  him  with  reference  to  the  wonders 
* Hearty— tipsy. 


40 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


they  had  heard  of  the  great  metropolis — of  the 
murders  and  robberies  cominilted  upon  travellers — 
tlie  kidnapping  of  strangers  from  llie  country — the 
Lord  Lieutenant's  Castle,  with  three  hundred  and 
sixty-four  windows  in  it,  and  all  the  extraordinary 
sights  and  prodigies  which  it  is  supposed  to  contain. 
Ill  a few  minutes  after  this  friendly  accession  to  their 
luitnbers  had  taken  place,  a youth  entered  about 
nineteen  years  of  age — handsome,  tall,  and  well 
made — in  fact,  such  a stripling  as  gave  undeniable 
pronii'ie  of  becoming  a fine,  powerful  young  man. 
On  being  handed  a glass  of  whisky  he  shook  hands 
with  M’Mahon,  welcomed  him  home,  and  then  drank 
all  their  healths  by  name  until  he  came  to  that  of 
Dora,  when  he  paused,  and,  coloring,  merely  nodded 
towards  her.  We  cannot  undertake  to  account  for 
this  omission,  nor  do  more  than  record  what  actually 
happened.  Ntither  do  we  know  why  Dora  blushed 
so  deeply  as  she  did,  nor  why  the  sparkling  and 
rapi<l  glance  which  she  gave  him  in  return  occasion- 
ed liim  to  look  down  w’ith  an  appearance  of  confu- 
sion and  pain.  Tliat  some  understanding  subsisted 
between  young  Cavanagh — for  he  was  Gerald’s  son 
— and  Dora  might  have  been  evident  to  a close  ob- 
server ; but  in  trutii  there  was  at  that  moment  no 
such  thing  as  a close  observer  among  them,  every 
eye  being  fixed  with  impatience  and  curiosity  upon 
Tom  M'Mahon,  who  liad  now  most  of  the  conversa- 
tion to  himself,  little  else  being  left  to  the  share  of 
liis  auditors  than  the  interjectional  phrases  and  ex- 
clamations of  wonder  at  his  extraordinary  account 
of  Dublin. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


41 


‘‘ Blit,  father,”  said  Bryan,  “about  the  business 
tliat  bronglit  you  there  ? Did  you  get  llie  lle- 
iiewal?” 

“I  got  as  good,”  replied  the  simple-hearted  old 
man,  “an’  lliat  was  the  loord  of  a glntleman — an’ 
sure  they  say  that  that's  the  best  seeurity  iu  the 
world.” 

“ Well,  but  how  was  it  ? ” they  exclaimed,  “ an’ 
liow  did  it  happen  that  you  didn’t  get  the  Lease 
itself?” 

“ Why,  you  see,”  he  proceeded  in  reply,  “ the  poor 
giutleinan  was  near  his  end — an’  it  was  owin’  to  Pat 
Corrigan  that  I seen  him  at  all — for  Pat,  you  know, 
is  his  own  man.  When  I went  in  to  where  he  sat  I 
found  ]\lr.  Fethertonge  the  agent  wid  him  : he  had  a 
nighl-eap  on,  an’  was  sittin’  in  a big  armciiair,  wid 
one  « f liis  feet  an’  a leg  swaythed  wid  flannel.  I 
thought  he  was  goin’  to  write  or  sign  papers. 
‘ Woll,  M Mahon,’ says  lie — for  he  was  always  as 
keen  as  a briar,  an’  knew  me  at  once — ‘ what  do  you 
want  ? an’  what  has  brought  you  from  the  country  ? ’ 
I then  spoke  to  liim  about  the  new  lease;  an’  he  said 
to  Fethertonge,  " prepare  M’Mahon’s  lease,  Fether- 
tonge ; — you  shall  have  a new  lease,  M’Mahon.  You 
are  an  honest  man,  and  your  family  liave  been  so  for 
many  a long  year  upon  our  property.  As  my  health 
is  unsartin,’  he  said,  turning  to  Mr.  Fethertonge,  ‘I 
take  Mr.  Fethertonge  here  to  witness,  that  in  case 
anylhing  should  haj)j)en  me  I give  you  my  promise 
for  a renewal — an’  not  only  in  my  name  alone,  but 
in  my  son’s;  an’  1 now  lave  it  upon  him  to  fulfil  my 
intentions  an’  my  words,  if  I should  not  live  to  see 


42 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


it  done  myself.  Mr.  Fetliertonge  here  has  brouizht 
me  papers  to  sign,  but  I am  not  able  lolnmld  a pen, 
or  if  1 was  Td  give  you  a written  promise;  but  you 
have  ray  solemn  word,  I fear  niy  d}in’  word,  in  Mr 
Fethertonge’s  presence — that  you  shall  have  a lease 
of  your  farm  at  the  ould  rint.  It  is  such  tenants  as 
you  we  want,  M’Mahon,  an’  that  we  ought  to  en- 
courage on  our  property.  Feihertonge,  do  you  in 
the  mane  time  see  that  a lease  is  prepared  for  M’- 
Malion  ; an’  see,  at  all  events,  that  my  wishes  shall 
be  carried  into  effect.’  Sicli  was  his  last  words  to 
me,  but  he  was  a corpse  on  the  next  day  but  one 
afterwards.” 

“ It’s  jist  as  good,”  they  exclaimed  with  one  voice  ; 
“for  what  is  belther,  or  what  can  be  betther  than 
the  word  of  an  Irish  gentleman  ? ” 

“ What  ought  to  be  better,  at  all  events?”  said 
Bryan.  “ Well,  father,  so  far  everything  is  right, 
for  there  is  no  doubt  but  his  son  will  fiultil  his 
wonls — Mr.  Fethertonge  himself  isn’t  the  thing  ; but 
I don’t  see  wdiy  lie  sliould  be  our  enemy.  We  al- 
ways stood  well  with  the  ould  man,  an’  I liope  will 
with  the  son.  Come, mother,  move  the  bottle  again 
— tliere’s  anotlier  round  in  it  still ; an’  as  everything 
looks  so  well  and  our  mind  is  aisy,  we’ll  see  it  to  the 
bottom.” 

The  conversation  was  again  resumed,  questions 
were  once  more  asked  concerning  tlie  sights  and 
SiMinds  of  Dublin,  of  wliich  one  would  imagine  they 
could  ^cal  c^  ly  ever  hear  enough,  until  the  evening  was 
tolerably  far  advanced,  when  the  neighbors  withdrew 


THE  EillGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


43 


to  tlieir  rospeclive  homes,  and  left  M’Mahon  and  his 
family  altoc^etlier  to  themselves. 

Peety,  now  that  tlie  joy  and  gratiilatiou  for 
the  return  of  their  fatlier  liad  somewhat  subsided, 
lost  no  time  in  deli veringllycy  Burke’s  communica- 
tion into  the  hands  of  Bryan.  The  latter,  on  open- 
ing it,  started  with  surprise  not  inferior  to  that  with 
which  Kathleen  Cavanagli  had  perused  the  missive 
adilressed  to  her.  Nor  was  this  all.  The  letter  re- 
ceived by  Bryan,  as  if  the  matter  had  been  actually 
designed  by  ilie  writer,  ]n*odueed  tln^  selfsame  sym- 
toms  of  deep  resentment  upon  him  that  the  mild  and 
gentle  Kutlileen  C.ivanagh  experienced  on  the  peru- 
sal of  her  own.  His  face  became  fiush(‘d  and  his 
eye  blazed  with  indignation  as  he  went  through  its 
contents;  after  which  he  once  more  looked  at  the 
Buperscrij)lion,  and  notwithstanding  the  vehement 
passion  into  which  it  had  thrown  him  he  was  ulti- 
niaiely  obliged  lo  laugh. 

‘^Peety,”  said  he,  resuming  his  gravity,  “ you  car- 
ried a letter  from  Ilycy  Burke  to  Kathleen  Cava- 
nagh  to-day  ? 

“Who  says  that  ?”  replied  Peety,  who  could  not 
but  remember  the  solemnity  of  his  promise  to  that 
accomplished  gentleman. 

“I  do,  Peety.” 

“ Well,  1 can’t  help  you,  Bry^an,  nor  prevent  you 
from  l hi  liking  so,  sure — stick  to  that.” 

“Why,  I know  you  did,  Peety.” 

“ Well,  acushla,  an’  if  you  do,  you’re  only  so  much 
the  wiaer.” 


44 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Oh,  T understand,”  continued  Bryan,  “it’s  a pri- 
vate afiair,  or  intended  to  be  so — an’  Mr.  Ilycy  has 
made  you  promise  not  to  S[)ake  of  it.” 

“ Sure  you  know  all  about  it,  Bryan  ; an  isn’t 
that  enough  for  you?  Only  what  answer  am  I to 
give  him?” 

“ None  at  present,  Peety ; but  say  I’ll  see  himself 
in  a day  or  two.” 

“That’s  your  answer, then  ? ” 

“ That’s  all  the  answer  I can  give  till  I sec  him- 
self, as  I said.” 

“ Well,  good-bye,  Bryan,  an’  God  be  wid  you  ! ” 

“ Good-bye,  Peety  !”  and  thus  they  parted. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


45 


CHAPTER  III. 

HYCY  AND  A CONFIDANT — JEMMY  BURKE  REFUSES  TO 
BE  MADE  A FOOL  OF. 

IIycy  Burke  was  one  of  those  persons  who,  under 
the  appearance  of  a sotnev^liat  ardent  temperanicnt, 
are  capable  of  abiding  the  issue  of  an  event  with 
more  than  ordinary  patience.  Having  not  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  the  circumstance  which  occa- 
sioned Bryan  M’Mahon’s  resentment,  lie  waited  for 
a day  or  two  under  the  expectation  tliat  liis  friend 
was  providing  the  sum  necessary  to  accommodate 
liim.  The  third  and  fourth  days  passed,  however, 
without  his  having  received  any  reply  whatsoever; 
and  H\  cy,  who  hatl  set  his  heart  upon  Crazy  Jane, 
on  finding  that  his  father — who  possessed  as  much 
firmness  as  he  did  of  generosity — absolutely  refused 
to  pay  f »r  her,  res  dved  to  lose  no  more  time  in 
putiing  Bryan’s  friendship  to  the  test.  To  this,  in- 
deed, he  was  urged  by  Burton,  a wealthy  but  knav- 
ish country  horse-dealer,  as  we  said,  who  wrote  to 
liim  that  unless  he  paid  for  her  within  a given  peri- 
od, he  must  be  under  the  necessity  of  closing  with  a 
person  who  liad  off  red  liim  a higher  price.  This 
message  was  very  offensive  to  Hycy,  whose  great 
foible,  as  the  reader  knows,  was  to  be  considered  a 
gentleman,  not  merely  in  appearance,  but  in  means 
and  ciicuiuj^tances.  He  consequently  had  come  to 
the  determination  of  writing  agaiu  to  M’Mahon  uj)on 


46 


THE  EMrGRANTS  OF  AHADABBA. 


the  same  subject,  when  chancebrought  them  togeth- 
er in  the  maiket  <>f  Ballyrnacan. 

After  the  usual  preliniinary  inquiries  as  to  health, 
Ilvcy  opene  I the  m.itier:  — 

“I  asked  you  to  lend  me  tive-and-thirty  pounds  lo 
secure  Crazy  Jane,”  said  he,  ‘‘and  you  didn’t  even 
answer  my  letter.  I admit  I’m  pretty  deeply  in 
your  debt,  as  it  is,  my  dear  Bryan,  but  you  know 
i’m  safe.” 

“ I’m  not  at  tliis  moment  thinking  much  of  money 
matters,  Ilycy  ; but,  as  yo»i  like  plain  speaking,  I 
tell  you  candidly  that  1*11  lend  you  no  money.” 

Ilycy’s  manner  changed  all  at  once ; he  looked  at 
M'Mahon  for  nearly  a minute,  and  said  in  quite  a 
ditlVrent  tone — 

“ What  is  the  cause  of  this  coldness,  Bryan  ? have 
I olFended  you  ? ” 

“Not  knowingly — but  you  /iaye offended  me  ; an’ 
that’s  all  I’ll  say'  about  it.” 

“ I’m  not  aware  of  it,”  replied  the  other — “ my 
word  and  honor  I’m  not.” 

Brynn  felt  himself  in  a position  of  peculiar  diffi- 
culty; he  couhl  not  openly  quarrel  with  Hycy,  un- 
less he  made  up  his  mind  to  disclose  the  grounds  of 
the  dispute,  which,  as  matters  then  stood  between 
him  and  Kailileen  C ivanagh,  to  whom  he  liad  not 
actually  d« dared  his  affection,  would  have  been  an 
act  of  great  presumption  on  his  ])art. 

“ Good-bye,  Hycy,”  said  he;  “I  have  tould  you 
my  mind,  and  now  I’ve  done  with  it,” 

“With  all  my  heart!”  said  the  other — “that’s  a 
matter  of  taste  on  your  part.  You’re  offended,  you 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAEARRA, 


4t 


say;  yet  you  choose  to  put  tlie  offence  in  your  pock- 
et. It’s  all  right,  I suppose — but  you  know  best. 
Good-bye  to  you,  at  all  events,”  lie  added;  “be  a 
good  boy  and  take  care  of  yourself.” 

M’Malion  nodded  with  good-humored  contempt 
in  return,  but  spoke  not. 

“ By  all  that  deserves  an  oath,”  exclaimed  ITycy, 
looking  bitterly  after  him,  “if  I should  live  to  the. 
day  of  judgment  ril  never  forgive  you  your  insult- 
ing conduct  this  day — and  that  I’ll  soon  make  you 
feel  to  your  cost !” 

This  misunderstanding  between  the  two  friends 
caused  Ilycy  to  feel  much  mortification  and  disap- 
pointment. After  leaving  M’Mahon,  he  went 
through  the  market  evidently  with  some  particular 
purpose  in  view,  if  one  could  judge  from  his  man- 
ner. He  first  proceeded  to  the  turf-marker,  and 
looked  with  a searching  eye  among  those  who  stood 
wailing  to  dispose  of  their  loads.  From  this  local- 
ity he  turned  his  steps  successively  to  other  parts 
of  the  town,  still  looking  keenly  about  him  as  he 
went  along.  At  length  he  seemed  disappointed  or 
indifferent,  it  was  difficult  to  say  which,  and  stood 
coiling  the  lash  of  his  whip  in  the  dust,  sometimes 
quite  unconsciously,  and  sometimes  as  if  a wager 
depended  on  the  success  with  which  he  did  it — 
when  on  looking  down  the  street  he  observed  a lit- 
tle broad,  squat  man,  with  a fiery  red  head,  a face 
almost  scaly  with  freckles,  wi  le  projecting  cheek- 
bones, and  a nose  so  thoroughly  of  the  saddle  spe- 
cies, that  a rule  laid  across  tlie  base  of  it,  immediate- 
ly between  the  eyes,  would  lie  close  to  the  whole 


48 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


front  of  Ills  face.  In  adilition  to  these  personal  ac- 
coinplishinents,  he  had  a pair  of  strong  bow  h‘gs, 
terminating  in  two  broad  flat  feet,  in  complete 
keeping  witli  his  whole  figure,  which,  ihoiigli  not  re- 
markable for  symmetry,  was  nevertheless  imlicaiive 
of  great  and  extraordinary  strength.  lie  wore  nei- 
ther stockings  nor  cravat  of  any  kin<i,  but  had  a 
pair  of  strong  clouted  brogues  upon  Ids  feet;  thus 
disclosing  to  the  spectator  two  legs  and  a breast 
that  were  covered  over  with  a fell  of  red  close  hair 
that  might  have  been  long  and  strong  enough  for  a 
badger.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a short  whip  re- 
sembling a carrot  in  shape,  and  evidently  of  such  a 
description  as  no  man  tliat  had  any  regard  for  his 
health  would  wish  tu  come  in  contact  with,  especial- 
ly from  the  liand  of  such  a double-jointed  but  mis- 
shapen Hercules  as  bore  it. 

“Ted,  how  goes  it,  my  man?” 

“ G/ie  (Uie  shin  dlrthu^  a dlaaousal replied 
Ted,  surveying  him  with  a stare. 

‘‘D — n you  !”  was  about  to  proceed  from  Hycy's 
lips  when  he  perceived  that  a very  ac  ive  magis- 
trate, named  Jennings,  stood  within  hearing.  The 
latter  passed  on,  however,  and  Hycy  proceeded  : — 
“I  was  about  to  abuse  you,  Ted,  for  coming  out 
with  your  Irish  to  mef  he  said,  “ until  I saw  Jen- 
ninixs,  and  then  I hud  you.” 

“Throgs,  din,  Meeisiher  Hycy,  I don’t  like  the 
’caise  1 can't  sphake  her  properly,  at  all, 
at  all.  Come  yoxL  out  wid  the  Gailick  fwhor  me,  i’ 
you  plaise,  Mceisther  Hycy.” 

*EDglisli  tongue. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


49 


D — n your  Gaelic !”  replied  Hycy — “ no  I won’t 
— I don’t  speak  it.” 

“The  Laud  forget  you  for  that!”  replied  Ted, 
with  a grin  ; “ my  ould  grand inudher  might  larn  it 
frwhom  you — hach,  ach,  ha!” 

“ None  of  your  d — d impertinence,  Ted.  I want 
to  speak  to  you.” 

“ Fwhat  would  her  be?”  asked  Ted,  with  a face 
in  which  there  miglit  be  read  such  a compound  of 
cunning  vacuity,  and  ferocity  as  could  rarely  be 
witnessed  in  the  same  countenance. 

“ Can  you  come  down  to  me  to-night  ?” 

“ No  ; I’ll  be  busy.” 

“Where  are  you  at  work  now?” 

“In  Glendearg,  above.” 

“Well,  then,  if  you  can’t  come  to  me,  I must 
only  go  to  you.  Will  you  be  there  to-night?  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you  on  very  particular  business,” 

“ Shiss ; you  will^  dhin,  wanst  more  ?”  asked  the 
other  significantly 

“ I think  so.” 

“ Shiss — ay— vary  good.  Fwhen  will  she  come  ?” 

“ About  eleven  or  twelve ; so  don’t  be  from  about 
the  place  anywhere.” 

“Shiss — dliin — vary  good.  Is  dhat  all?” 

“That’s  all  now.  Are  your  turf  dry  or 
to-day?” 

* One  method  of  spelling  Poteen  is  by  bringing  in  kUlie^  of 
turf  to  the  neighboring  markets,  when  those  who  are  up  to  the 
secret  purchase  the  turf,  or  pretend  to  do  so  ; and  while  in  the  act 
of  discharging  the  load,  the  Keg  of  Poteen  is  quickly  passed  into 
the  house  of  him  who  purchases  the  turf. — Are  your  turf  wet  or 
dry?  was,  consequently,  pass-word, 

3 


60 


THE  EMIGBANTS  OF  AHADAKBA. 


“Xor  vary  dhry^’*  replied  Ted,  with  a grin  so 
wide,  that,  as  was  humorously  said  by  a neighbor 
of  his,  “it  would  take  a telescope  to  enable  a man 
to  see  from  the  one  end  of  it  to  the  other.” 

Hycy  nodded  and  laughed,  and  Ted,  cracking 
his  whip,  proceeded  up  the  town  to  sell  his  turf. 

Hycy  now  sauntered  about  through  the  market, 
chatting  here  and  there  among  acquaintances,  with 
the  air  of  a man  to  whom  neither  life  nor  anything 
connected  with  it  could  occasion  any  earthly  trouble. 
Indeed,  it  mattered  little  what  he  felt,  his  easi- 
ness of  manner  was  such  that  not  one  of  his 
acquaintances  could  for  a moment  impute  to  him 
the  possibility  of  ever  being  weighed  down  by  trou- 
ble or  care  of  any  kind  ; and  lest  his  natural  elastic- 
ity of  spirits  might  fail  to  sustain  this  perpetual 
buoyancy,  he  by  no  means  neglected  to  fortify  him- 
self with  artificial  support.  Meet  him  when  or 
where  you  might,  be  it  at  six  in  the  morning  or 
twelve  at  night,  you  were  certain  to  catch  from  his 
breath  the  smell  of  liquor,  either  in  its  naked  simpli- 
city or  disguised  and  modified  in  some  shape. 

Ilis  ride  home,  though  a rapid,  was  by  no  means 
a pleasant  one.  M’Mahon  had  not  only  refused  to 
lend  him  the  money  he  stood  in  need  of,  but  actual- 
ly quarrelled  with  him,  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  for 
no  other  purpose  but  that  he  might  make  the  quar- 
rel a plea  for  refusing  him.  This  disappointment,  to 
a person  of  Ilycy’s  disposition,  was,  we  have  seen, 
bitterly  vexatious,  and  it  may  be  presumed  that  he 
reached  home  in  anything  but  an  agreeable  humor. 
Having  dismounted,  he  was  about  to  enter  the  hall- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


hi 


door,  when  his  attention  was  directed  towards  that 
of  the  kitclien  by  a rather  loud  hainmeiing,  and  on 
turning  his  eyes  to  the  spot  he  found  two  or  three 
tinkers  very  busily  engaged  in  soldering,  cla'^ping, 
and  otherwise  repairing  certain  vessels  belonging  to 
that  warm  and  spacious  establishment.  The  leader 
of  tiiese  vagrants  was  a man  named  Pliilip  Hogan,  a 
fellow  of  surprising  strength  and  desperate  charac- 
ter, whose  feats  of  hardihood  and  daring  had 
given  him  a fearful  notoriety  over  a large  district 
of  the  country.  Hogan  was  a man  whom  almost 
every  one  feared,  b<  ing,  from  confidence  we  presume 
in  his  great  strength,  as  well  as  by  nature,  both 
insolent,  overbearing,  and  ruffianly  in  the  extreme. 
His  inseparable  and  appropriate  companion  was  a 
fierce  and  powerful  bull  <log  of  the  old  Irish  breed, 
which  he  had  so  admirably  trained  that  it  was  only 
necessary  to  give  him  a sign,  and  he  would  seize  by 
the  throat  either  man  or  beast,  merely  in  compli- 
ance with  the  will  of  his  master.  On  this  occasion 
he  was  accompanied  by  two  of  his  brothers,  who 
were  in  fact  nearly  as  impudent  and  offensive  ruf- 
fiasjs  as  himself.  Hycy  paiised  for  a moment,  seem- 
ed thoughtful,  and  tapped  his  boot  with  the  point 
of  his  whip  as  he  looked  at  them.  On  enterirtg  the 
parlor  he  found  dinner  over,  and  his  father,  as  was 
usual,  waiting  to  get  his  tumbler  of  punch. 

“ Where’s  my  mother  ? ” he  asked — “ where’s  Mrs- 
Burke  ? ” 

On  uitering  the  last  words  he  raised  his  voice  so 
as  that  she  might  distinctly  hear  him. 

“ She’s  above  stairs  get  tin’  the  whiskey,”  replied 


62 


THE  EMIGRANTS  GF  AHADARRA. 


liis  father,  “an’  God  knows  she’s  long  enough  about 
it.” 

II  \ cy  ran  np,  and  meeting  her  on  the  lobby,  said, 
in  a lovi',  anxious  voice — ^ 

“Well,  what  news?  Will  he  stand  it?” 

“ No,”  slie  replied,  “ you  may  give  up  the  notion 
— lie  won’t  do  it,  an’  there’s  no  use  in  axin’  him  any 
more.” 

“ He  won't  do  it  ! ” repeated  the  son  ; “ are  you 
certain  now  ? ” 

“ Sure  an’  sartin.  I done  all  that  could  be  done; 
but  it’s  worse  an’  worse  he  got.” 

Something  escaped  Hycy  in  the  shape  of  an  ejacu- 
lation, of  which  we  are  not  in  possession  at  present; 
he  immediately  added  : — 

“Well,  never  mind.  Heavens!  howl  pity  yon, 
ma’am — to  be  united  to  such  a d — d — hem  ! — to  such 
a — a — such  a — gentleman  !” 

Mrs.  Burke  raised  her  hands  as  if  to  intimate  that 
it  was  useless  to  indulge  in  any  compassion  of  the 
kind. 

“The  thing’s  now  past  cure,”  she  said;  “I’m  a 
marthyr,  an’  that’s  all  that’s  about  it.  Come  down 
till  I get  you  your  dinner.” 

Hycy  took  his  seat  in  the  parlor,  and  began  to 
give  a stave  of  the  “ Bay  of  Biscay — 

“ ‘ Loud  roar’d  the  dreadful  thunder, 

The  rain  a deluge  pours  ; 

The  clouds  were  rent  asunder 
By  light’uing’s  vivid — ’ 

By  the  way,  mother,  what  are  those  robbing  ruffians, 
the  Hogans,  doing  at  the  kitchen  door  there  ? ” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


53 


“Troth,  whatever  they  like,”  she  replied.  “I 
tould  that  vagabond,  Pliilip,  that  I had  nothing  for 
them  to  do,  an’  says  he,  ‘ I’m  the  best  judge  of  that, 
Roslja  Burke.’  An’  with  that  he  walks  into  the 
kitchen,  an’  lakes  everything  that  he  seen  a flaw  in, 
an’  there  he  and  tliemsat  a mendin’  an’  sotherin’  an’ 
hammerin’ away  at  them,  without  ever  sayin’, ‘by 
your  lave.’  ” 

“ It’s  perfectly  well  known  that  they’re  robbers,” 
said  Hycy,  “ and  the  general  opinion  is  that  they’re 
in  connection  with  a Dublin  gang,  who  are  in  this 
part  of  the  country  at  present.  However,  Til  speak 
to  the  ruffians  about  such  conduct.” 

He  then  left  the  parlor,  and  proceeding  to  the 
farmyard,  made  a signal  to  one  of  the  Hogans,  who 
went  down  hammer  in  hand  to  where  lie  stood. 
Daring  a period  of  ten  minutes,  he  and  Hycy  re- 
mained in  conversation,  but  of  what  character  it 
was,  whether  friendly  or  otherwise,  the  distance  at 
which  they  stood  rendered  it  impossible  for  any  one 
to  ascertain.  Hycy  then  returned  to  dinner,  wiiilst 
his  father  in  the  meantime  sat  smoking  his  pipe,  and 
sipping  from  time  to  time  at  his  tumbler  of  punch. 
Mrs.  Burke,  herself,  occupied  an  arm-chair  to  the 
left  of  the  fire,  engaged  at  a stocking  which  was  one 
of  a pair  that  she  contrived  to  knit  for  her  husband 
during  every  twelvemonths;  and  on  the  score  of 
which  she  pleaded  strong  claims  to  a character  of 
most  exemplary  and  indefatigable  industry. 

“ Any  news  from  the  market,  Hycy  ? ” said  his 
father. 

“Yes,”  replied  Hycy,  in  that  dry  ironical  tone 


54 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA, 


whicli  he  always  used  to  his  parents — “ rather  inter- 
esting— Ballymacaii  is  in  the  old  place.” 

“ BekaUe,”  replied  his  father,  with  more  quickness 
than  migiit  be  expected,  as  he  whiffed  away  the 
smoke  with  a face  of  very  sarcastic  humor ; “ I hard 
it  had  gone  up  a bit  towards  the  mountains — but  I 
knew  you  wor  the  boy  could  tell  me  whether  it  had 
or  not — ha  ! — ha  ! — ha ! ” 

This  rejoinder,  in  addition  to  the  intelligence  Hycy 
had  just  received  from  his  mother,  was  not  calcula- 
ted to  improve  his  temper.  “You  may  laugh,”  he 
replied  ; “ but  if  your  respectable  father  had  treated 
you  in  a spirit  so  stingy  and  beggarly  as  that  which 
I experience  at  your  hands,  I don’t  know  how  you 
might  have  borne  it.” 

father ! ” replied  Burke;  “take  your  time, 
Hycy — my  hand  to  you,  he  had  a different  son  to 
manage  from  what  I have.” 

“ God  sees  that’s  truth,”  exclaimed  his  wife,  turn- 
ing the  expression  to  her  son’s  account. 

“ I was  no  gentleman,  Hycy,”  Burke  pro- 
ceeded. 

“ Ah,  is  it  possible?  ” said  the  son,  with  a sneer, 
“ Are  you  sure  of  that,  now  ? ” 

“Nor  no  spendthrift,  Hycy.” 

“No,”  said  the  wife,  “ you  never  had  the  spirit; 
you  were  ever  and  always  a ^nolshyy^ 

“ An’  yet  molshy  as  I was,”  he  replied,  “ you  wor 
glad  to  catch  me.  But  Hycy,  my  good  boy,  I didn’t 
cost  my  father  at  the  rate  of  from  a hundre’-an’-fifty 
to  two-hundre’-a-year,  an’  get  myself  laughed  at  and 
* A womanly  contemptible  follow. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


55 


snubbed  by  my  superiors,  for  forcin’  myself  into 
their  company.” 

Can’t  you  let  the  boy  ait  his  dinner  in  peace,  at 
any  rate?”  said  his  mother.  “Upon  my  credit,  I 
wouldn’t  be  surprised  if  you  drove  him  away  from 
us  altogether.” 

“ 1 only  want  to  drive  him  into  common  sense, 
and  the  respectful  feeling  he  ought  to  show  to  both 
you  an’  me,  Rosha,”  said  Burke  ; “ if  he  expects  to 
to  have  either  luck  or  grace,  or  the  blessing  of  God 
upon  him,  he’ll  change  his  coorses,  an’  not  keep 
breakin’  my  heart  as  he’s  doin’.” 

“Will  you  pay  for  the  mare  I bought,  father  ? ” 
asked  Hycy,  very  seriously.  “I  liave  already  told 
yon,  that  I paid  three  guineas  earnest ; I hope  you 
will  regard  your  name  and  family  so  far  as  to  pre- 
vent me  from  breaking  my  word — besides  leading 
the  world  to  suppose  that  you  are  a poor  man.” 

“Regard  my  name  and  family!”  returned  the 
father,  with  a look  of  bitterness  and  sorrow ; “ who 
is  bringing  them  into  disgrace,  Hycy  ?” 

“In  the  mean  time,”  replied  the  son,  “I  have 
asked  a plain  question,  Mr.  Burke,  and  I expect  a 
plain  answer;  will  you  pay  for  the  mare?” 

“ An’  supposin’  I don’t  ? ” 

“ Why,  then,  Mr.  Burke,  if  you  don’t  you  won’t, 
that’s  all.”  ' 

“I  must  stop  some  time,”  replied  his  father,  “an’ 
that  is  now.  I wonH  pay  for  hery 

“Well  then,  sir,  I shall  feel  obliged,  as  your  re- 
spectable wife  has  just  said,  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
eat,  and  if  possible,  live  in  peace.” 


66 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘I’m  speakin’  only  for  your — ” 

“That  will  do  now — hush — silence  if  you  please.” 

“ Hycy  dear,”  said  the  mother  ; “ why  would  you 
ax  him  another  question  about  it?  Drop  the  thing 
altogether.” 

“ I will,  mother,  but  I pity  you  / in  the  mean  time, 
I thank  you,  ma’am,  of  your  advice.” 

“Hycy,”  she  continued,  with  a view  of  changing 
the  conversation;  “ did  you  hear  that  Tom  M’Bride’s 
dead  ? ” 

“No  ma’am,  but  I expected  it;  when  did  he  die?” 

Before  his  father  could  reply,  a fumbling  was 
heard  at  the  hall-door;  and,  the  next  moment, 
Hogan,  thrust  in  his  huge  head  and  shoulders 
began  to  examine  the  lock  by  attempting  to  turn 
the  key  in  it. 

“ Hogan,  what  are  you  about  ? ” asked  Hycy. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  replied  the  ruffian;  “I  only 
wished  to  know  if  the  lock  wanted  mendin’ — that 
was  all,  Masther  Hycy.” 

“Begone,  sirra,”  said  the  other;  “how  dare  you 
have  the  presumption  to  take  such  a liberty?  you 
impudent  scoundrel!  Mother,  you  had  better  pay 
them,”  he  added ; “give  the  vagabonds  anything  they 
ask,  to  get  rid  of  them.” 

Having  dined,  her  worthy  son  mixed  a tumbler  of 
punch,  and  while  drinking  it,  he  amused  himself,  as 
was  his  custom,  by  singing  snatches  of  various  songs, 
and  drumming  with  his  fingers  upon  the  table ; 
whilst  every  now  and  then  he  could  hear  the  tones 
of  his  mother’s  voice  in  high  altercation  with  Hogan 
and  his  brothers.  This,  however,  after  a time  ceased, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


5T 


and  she  returned  to  the  parlor  a good  deal  chafed  by 
the  dispute. 

“ There’s  one  thing'  I wonder  at,”  she  observed, 
“that  of  all  men  in  the  neighborhood,  Gerald  Cava- 
anagh  would  allow  sicii  vagahoiids  as  they  an’  Kate 
Ho  gan  is,  to  put  in  his  kiln.  Troth,  Hycy,”  she 
added,  speaking  to  him  in  a warning  and  significant 
tone  of  voice,  “ if  there  wasn’t  something  low  an’ 
mane  in  him,  he  wouldn’t  do  it.” 

“ ‘ ’Tis  when  the  cup  is  smiling  before  us, 

And  we  pledge  unto  our  hearts — ’ 

Your  health,  mother.  Mr.  Burke,  here’s  to  you  ! 
Wliy  I dare  say  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Burke.  The 
Cavanagh  family  is  but  an  upstart  one  at  best ; it 
wants  antiquity,  ma’am — a mere  affair  of  yesterday, 
so  what  after  all  could  you  expect  from  it?  ” 

Honest  Jemmy  looked  at  him  and  then  groaned. 
“ An  upstart  family  ! — that’ll  do — oh,  murdlier — well, 
’tis  respectable  at  all  events;  however,  as  to  havin’ 
the  Hogans  about  them — they  wor  always'  about 
them;  it  was  the  same  in  their  fixther’s  time.  I re- 
member ould  Laghlin  Hogan,  an’  his  whole  clanjam- 
frey,  men  an’  women,  young  an’  old,  wor  near  six 
months  out  o’  the  year  about  ould  Gerald  Cavan- 
nagh’s — the  present  man’s  father;  an’  another  thing 
you  may  build  upon — that  whoever  ’ud  chance  to 
speak  a hard  word  against  one  o’  the  Cavanagh  fam- 
ily, before  Philip  Hogan  or  any  of  his  brothers, 
would  stand  a strong  chance  of  a shirtful  o’  sore 
bones.  Besides,  we  all  know  how  Philip’s  faJier 
saved  Mrs.  Ca  anagh’s  life  about  nine  or  ten  months 
after  her  marriage.  At  any  rate,  whatever  bad 


58 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


qualities  the  vagabonds  have,  want  of  gratitude  isn’t 
among  them.” 

‘ That  are  true,  boys,  true, 

The  sky  of  this  life  opeus  o’er  us, 

And  heaven — ' 

M’Bride,  ma’am,  will  be  a severe  loss  to  his  family.” 

“Tliroth  he  will,  and  a sarious  loss — for  among 
ourselves,  there  was  none  o’  them  like  him.” 

“ ‘ — Gives  a glance  of  its  blue—’ 

I think  I ought  to  go  to  the  wake  to-night.  I know 
it’s  a bit  of  a descent  on  my  part,  but  still  it  is 
scarcely  more  than  is  due  to  a decent  neighbor.  Yes, 
I shall  go;  it  is  determined  on.” 

“ ‘ I ga’ed  a wacfu’  gate  yestreen, 

A gate  I fear  I’ll  dearly  rue  ; 

I gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet  een, 

Twa  lovely  een  o’  bonnie  blue.’ 

Jifine  are  brown,  Mrs.  Burke — the  eyes  you  wot  of; 
but  alas!  the  family  is  an  upstart  one,  and  that  is 
stronerly  against  the  Protestant  interest  in  the  case. 
Heigho!” 

Jemmy  Burke,  having  finished  his  after-dinner  pipe 
and  his  daily  tumbler  both  together,  went  out  toliis 
men ; and  Hycy,  with  whom  he  left  the  drinking 
materials,  after  having  taken  a tumbler  or  two,  put 
on  a strong  pair  of  boots,  and  changed  the  rest  of  his 
dress  for  a coarser  suit,  bade  his  mother  a polite 
good-bye,  and  informed  her,  that  as  lie  intended  to 
be  presen  t at  M’Bride’s  wake,  he  would  most  proba- 
bly not  return  until  near  morning. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


59 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A POTEEN  STILL-HOUSE  AT  MIDNIGHT. ITS  INMATES. 

About  three  miles  in  a south-western  direction 
from  Burke’s  residence,  the  country  was  bounded  by 
a range  of  high  hills  and  mountains  of  a very  rug- 
ged and  wild,  but  jnciuresque, description.  Although 
a poriion  of  the  same  landscape,  yet  nothing  could 
be  more  strikingly  distinct  in  character  than  the 
position  of  the  brown  wild  hills,  as  contrasted  with 
that  of  the  mountains  from  wliich  they  abutted. 
The  latter  ran  in  long  and  lofty  ranges  that  were 
marked  by  a majestic  and  sublime  simplicity,  wliilst 
the  hills  were  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  seemed  as 
if  cast  about  at  random.  As  a matter  of  course  the 
glens  and  valleys  that  divided  them  ran  in  every 
possible  direction,  sometimes  crossing  and  intersect- 
ing eacli  other  at  right  angles,  and  sometimes  run- 
ning parallel,  or  twisting  away  in  opposite  direc- 
tions. In  one  of  those  glens  that  lay  nearest  the 
mountains,  or  rather  indeed  among  them,  was  a spot 
which  from  its  peculiar  position  would  appear  to 
have  been  designed  from  the  very  beginning  as  a 
perfect  paradise  for  the  illicit  distiller.  It  was  a 
kind  ol  back  chamV)er  in  the  mountains,  that  might, 
in  fict,  have  escaped  observation  altogether,  as  it 
often  did.  The  approacli  to  it  was  by  a long  pre- 
cipitous glen,  that  could  be  entered  only  at  its  lower 
end,  and  seemed  to  terminate  against  the  abrupt  side 


60 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


of  the  mountain,  like  a cul  de  sac.  At  the  very  ex^* 
trernity,  however,  of  this  termination,  and  a little  on 
the  right-hand  side,  there  was  a steep,  narrow  pass 
leading  into  a recess  which  was  completely  encom- 
passed by  precipices.  From  this  tliere  was  only 
one  means  of  escape,  independently  of  tiie  gut 
through  which  it  was  entered.  Tiie  moors  on  the 
side  most  approachable  were  level,  and  on  a line  to 
the  eye  with  that  portion  of  the  mountains  which 
bounded  it  on  the  opposite  side,  so  that  as  one 
looked  forward  the  space  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
continuous,  and  consequently  no  person  could  sus- 
jDect  that  there  lay  so  deep  and  precipitous  a glen 
between  them. 

In  the  northern  corner  of  this  remarkable  locality, 
a deep  cave,  having  every  necessary  property  as  a 
place  for  private  distillation,  ran  under  the  rocks, 
wliich  met  over  it  in  a kind  of  gothic  arch.  A stream 
of  water,  just  sufficient  for  the  requisite  purposes,  fell 
in  through  a fissure  from  above,  forming  such  a lit- 
tle subterraneous  cascade  in  the  cavern  as  human 
design  itself  could  scarcely  have  surpassed  in  felicity 
of  adaptation  to  the  objects  of  an  illicit  distiller. 

To  this  cave,  then,  we  must  take  the  liberty  of 
transporting  our  readers,  in  order  to  give  them  an 
opportunity  of  getting  a peep  at  the  inside  of  a 
Poteen  Still-house,  and  of  hearing  a portion  of  con- 
versation, which,  although  not  remarkable  lor  either 
elegance  or  editication,  we  are,  nevertheless,  obliged 
to  detail,  as  being  in  some  degree  necessary  to  the 
elucidation  of  our  narrative.  Up  in  that  end  which 
constituted  the  termination  of  the  cave,  and  fixed 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


61 


upon  a large  turf  fire  which  burned  within  a circle 
of  stones  that  supported  it,  was  a tolerably-sized 
Still,  made  of  block-tin.  The  mouth  of  this  Still 
w^as  closed  by  an  air-tight  cover,  also  of  tin,  called 
the  Head,  from  which  a tube  of  the  same  metal  pro- 
jected into  a large  keeve,  or  condenser,  tliat  was 
kept  always  filled  with  cool  water  by  an  incessant 
stream  from  the  cascade  we  have  described,  which 
always  ran  into  and  overflowed  it.  The  arm  of  this 
head  w^as  fitted  and  made  air-tight,  also,  into  a spiral 
tube  of  copper,  called  the  Worm,  wliich  rested  in 
the  water  of  the  cooler ; and  as  it  consist-ed  of  seve- 
ral convolutions,  like  a cork-screw,  its  office  was  to 
condense  the  hot  vapor  which  was  transmitted  to  it 
from  the  glowing  Still  into  that  description  of  spirits 
known  as  poteen.  At  the  bottom  of  this  cooler, 
the  Worm  terminated  in  a small  cock  or  spigot,  from 
which  the  spirits  projected  in  a slender  stream  about 
the  thickness  of  a quill  into  a vessel  placed  for  its 
reception.  Such  was  the  position  of  the  Still,  Head, 
and  Worm,  when  in  full  operation.  Fixed  about 
the  cave,  upon  rude  stone  stillions,  were  the  usual 
vessels  requisite  for  the  various  processes  through 
which  it  was  necessary  to  put  the  malt,  before  the 
wort,  which  is  its  first  liquid  shape,  was  fermented, 
cleared  off,  and  thrown  into  the  Still  to  be  singled ; 
for  our  readers  must  know  that  distillation  is  a dou- 
ble process,  the  first  product  being  called  singlbigs^ 
and  the  second  or  last,  doublings — which  is  the  per- 
fect liquor.  Sacks  of  malt,  empty  vessels,  piles  of 
turf,  heaps  of  grains,  tubs  of  wash,  and  kegs  of 
whiskey,  were  lying  about  in  all  directions,  together 


62 


'the  emigrants  of  ahadarra. 


with  pots,  pans,  wooflen  trenchers,  and  dishes,  for 
culinary  uses.  The  scats  were  round  stcnes  and 
black  bosses  which  were  made  of  a light  hard  moss 
found  in  the  mountains  and  bogs,  and  frequently 
used  as  seats  in  rustic  chimney  corners.  On  enter- 
ing,  your  nose  was  assailed  by  such  a mingled 
stench  of  warm  grains,  sour  barm,  putrid  potato 
skins,  and  strong  whiskey,  as  required  considerable 
fortitude  to  bear  without  very  unequivocal  tokens  of 
disgust. 

Tile  persons  assembled  were  in  every  way  worthy 
of  the  place  and  its  dependencies.  Seated  fronting 
the  fire  was  our  friend  Teddy  Phats,  which  was  the 
only  name  he  was  ever  known  by,  his  wild,  beetle 
brows  lit  into  a red  frightful  glare  of  savage  mirth 
that  seemed  incapable,  in  its  highest  glee,  to  disen- 
gage itself  entirely  from  an  expression  of  the  man’s 
unquenchable  ferocity.  Opposite  to  him  sat  a tall, 
smut-faced,  truculent-looking  young  fellow,  with  two 
piercing  eyes  and  a pair  of  grim  brows,  which,  when 
taken  in  conjunction  with  a hard,  unfeeling  mouth, 
from  the  corners  of  which  two  right  lines  ran  down 
to  his  chin,  giving  that  part  of  his  face  a most  dis- 
mal expression,  constituted  a countenance  that 
matched  exceedingly  well  with  the  visage  of  Teddy 
Phats.  This  worthy  gentleman  was  a tinker,  and 
one  of  Hogan’s  brothers,  whom  we  have  already  in- 
troduced to  our  readers.  Scattered  about  the  fire 
and  ihrough  tlie  cavern  were  a party  of  countrymen 
who  came  to  purchase  whiskey  for  a wx^ddirig,  and 
three  or  four  publicans  and  shebeenmen  who  had 
come  on  professional  business.  Some  were  drinking. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


63 


some  indulging  in  song,  and  some  were  already  lying 
drunk  or  asleep  in  ditterent  parts  of  this  subterran- 
eous pandemonium.  Exalted  in  what  was  co»>sider- 
ed  the  position  of  lionor  sat  a country  hedge-school- 
master, liis  mellow  eye  beaming  with  something  be- 
tween natural  humor,  a sense  of  his  own  importance, 
and  the  influence  of  pure  whiskey,  fresh,  as  it  is  call- 
ed, from  the  Still-eye. 

“ Here,  Teddy,”  said  one  of  the  countrymen,  “ will 
you  fill  the  bottle  again  ? ” 

No,”  replied  Tedd}%  who,  though  as  cunning  as 
the  devil  himself,  could  seldom  begot  to  speak  aijy- 
thing  better  than  broken  English,  and  that  of  such 
a character  that  it  was  often  scarcely  intelligible  — 

“No,”  he  replied;  “I  gav’d  you  wan  bottle 
’idout  payment  fwhor  her,  an’  by  shapers  I won’ t 
give  none  oder.” 

“ Why,  you  burning  beauty,  aren’t  we  takin’ 
ten  gallons,  an’  will  you  begrudge  us  a second 
bott  le ! ” 

“Sidss — devil  purshue  de  bottle  more  ye’ll  drunk 
here  ’idout  de  airigad^  dat’s  fwhat  you  will.” 

“Teddy,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  “•!  drink  propin- 
ation  to  you  as  a profissional  gintleman  ! No  man 
uses  more  indepindent  language  than  you  do.  You 
are  under  no  earthly  obligation  to  Messrs.  Syntax 
and  Prosody  Grammar,  my  worthy  friend,  is 
banished  as  an  intruder  from  your  elocution,  just 
as  you  would  exclude  a guager  from  your  Still- 
house.” 

“Fwhat  about  de  gauger!”  exclaimed  Teddy, 
* Money. 


64 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


starting;  “ d — n him  an’  sh un-tax  an’  every  oder 
tax,  l int  an’  all — liee  ! hee  ! liee  !” 

We  may  as  well  let  our  readers  know,  before  we 
proceed  farther,  that  in  the  opinion  of  many,  Teddy 
Fhats  understood  and  could  speak  English  as  well 
as  any  man  of  his  station  in  the  country.  In  fairs 
or  markets,  or  other  public  places,  he  spoke,  it  is 
true,  nothing  but  Irish  unless  in  a private  way,  and 
only  to  persons  in  whom  he  thought  he  could  place 
every  confidence.  It  was  often  observed,  however, 
that  in  such  conversations  he  occasionally  arranged 
the  matter  of  those  who  could  use  only  English  to 
him,  in  such  a way  as  proved  pretty  clearly  that  he 
must  have  possessed  a greater  mastery  over  that 
languasce  than  he  acknowledsced.  We  believe  the 
fact  to  be,  however,  that  Teddy,  as  an  illicit  distil- 
ler, had  found  it  on  some  peculiar  occasions  connect- 
ed with  his  profession  rather  an  inconvenient  ac- 
complishment to  know  English.  He  had  given 
some  evidence  in  liis  day,  and  proved,  or  attempted 
to  prove,  a few  alibies  on  behalf  of  his  friends  ; and 
he  always  found,  as  there  is  good  reason  to  believe, 
that  the  Irish  language,  when  properly  enunciated 
through  the  medium  of  an  interpreter,  was  rather 
the  safer  of  the  two,  especially  when  resorted  to 
within  the  precincts  of  the  country  court-house  and 
in  hearing  of  the  judge. 

“ You’re  a fool,  Teddy,”  said  Hogan  ; ‘4et  them 
drink  themselves  blind — this  liquor’s  paid  for;  an’ 
if  they  lose  or  spill  it  by  the  way,  why,  blazes  to  your 
purty  mug,  don’t  you  know  they’ll  have  to  pay  for 
another  cargo.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


65 


Teddy  immediately  took  the  hint. 

“Barney  Brogan,”  he  shouted  to  a lubberly -look- 
ing, bullet-headed  cub,  half  knave,  half  fool,  wlio 
lived  about  such  establislirnents,  and  acted  as  mes- 
senger, spy,  and  vidette ; “listen  hedher ! bring 
Darby  Keenan  dere  dat  bottle,  an’  let  ’em  drink  till 
de  grace  o’  God  comes  on  ’em — ha,  ha,  ha  !” 

“More  power  to  you,  Vaynus,”  exclaimed  Kee- 
nan ; “ you’re  worth  a thousand  pounds,  quarry 
weight.” 

“ 1 am  inclined  to  think,  Mr.  Keenan,”  said  the 
schoolmaster,  “that  you  are  in  the  habit  occasionally 
of  taking  slight  liberties  wid  the  hay  then  mytho- 
logy. Little,  1 11  be  bound,  the  divine  goddess  of 
beauty  ever  dreamt  she’d  find  a representative  in 
Teddy  Phats.” 

“ Bravo  ! mastlier,”  replied  Keenan,  “ you’re  the 
boy  can  do — only  that  English  is  too  tall  for  me. 
At  any  rate,  he  added,  aj)proacliing  the  worthy  pre- 
ceptor, “ take  a spell  o’  this — it’s  a language  w^e  can 
all  understand.” 

“ You  mane  to  say.  Darby,”  returned  the  other, 
“ that  it’s  a kind  of  universal  spelling-book  amongst 
us,  and  so  it  is — an  alphabet  aisily  lamed.  Your 
liealth,  now  and  under  all  circumstances  ! Teddy, 
or  Thaddeus,  I drink  to  your  symmetry  and  inex- 
plicable proportions;  and  I say  for  your  comfort, 
my  worthy  distillator,  that  if  you  are  not  so  reful- 
gent in  beauty  as  Venus,  you  are  a purer  Imythen.” 

“Fwhat  a bloody  fwhine  BairlJia-m^n  the  meeis- 
ther  is,”  said  Teddy,  with  a grin.  “ Fwhaicks,  mee- 
isthur,  your  de  posey  of  Tullyticklem,  spishilly  wid 


66 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Captain  Fwhiskey  at  your  back.  You  spake  de 
Bairllia  up  den  jist  all  as  one  as  nobody  could  un- 
derstand her — ha,  ha,  ha!” 

The  inasther,  whose  name  was  Finigan,  or,  as  he 
wished  to  he  called,  O'Finigan,  looked  upon  Teddy 
and  shook  his  head  very  significantly. 

‘‘  I’m  afraid,  my  worthy  dislillator,”  he  proceeded, 
“ that  the  proverb  which  says  ‘ latet  angitis  in  herha^ 
is  not  inapplicable  in  your  case.  I think  I can  oc- 
casionally detect  in  these  ferret  like  orbs  that  consti- 
tute such  an  attractive  portion  of  your  beauty,  a 
passing  scintillation  of  intelligence  which  you  wish 
to  keep  a secret is^  as  they  say.” 

“ Mr.  Finigan,”  said  Keenan,  who  had  now  re- 
turned to  his  friends,  “ if  you  wouldn’t  be  bet- 
ther  employed  to-morrow,  you’d  be  welcome  to  the 
weddin’.” 

‘‘ Many  thanks,  Mr.  Keenan,”  replied  Finigan; 
“ I accept  your  hospitable  offer  wid  genuine  cordi- 
ality. Tn-jnorrow  will  be  a day  wortiiy  of  a white 
mark  to  all  parties  concerned.  Horace  calls  it  chalk, 
which  is  probably  the  most  appropriate  substance 
with  which  the  records  of  matrimonial  felicity  could 
be  registered,  crede  experto.'*^ 

“At  any  rate,  Misther  Finigan,  give  the  boys 
a holiday  tomorrow,  and  be  down  wid  us 
airly.” 

“ There  is  not,”  replied  Finigan,  who  was  now 
pretty  well  advanced,  “ I believe  widin  the  compass 
of  written  or  spoken  language— an  l I miglit  on  that 
sul)ject  appeal  to  Mr.  Tliaddeiis  O’Phats  Iiere,  who 
is  a good  authority  on  that  particular  subject,  or 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


67 


indeed  on  any  one  that  involves  the  beauty  of  elo- 
cution— I say,  then,  there  is  not  widin  the  compass 
of  spoken  language  a single  word  compose<l  of  two 
syllables  so  delectable  to  human  ears,  as  is  that  word 
to  the  pupils  of  a Plardation  Seminary 
and  I assure  you  that  those  talismanic  syllables 
shall  my  youthful  pupils  hear  correclly  pronounced 
to-morrow  about  ten  o’clock.” 

AVhilst  O’Finigan  was  thus  dealing  out  the 
king’s  English  wiih  such  complacent  volubility — a 
volubility  that  was  deeply  indebted  to  the  liquor  he 
had  taken — the  following  dialogue  took  place 
in  a cautious  under-tone  between  Batt  Hogan  and 
Teddy. 

“So  Hycy  the  sportheen  is  to  be  up  here  to- 
night ? ” 

“Shiss.” 

“B — t your  shiss!  can’t  you  spake  like  a Chris- 
tian ? ” 

“ No,  I won’t,”  replied  the  other,  angrily;  “I’ll 
spake  as  I likes.” 

“ What  brings  him  up,  do  you  know  ?” 

“ Bekaise  he’s  goin’  to  thry  his  misfortune  upon 
her  here,”  he  replied,  pointing  to  the  still  “ You'll 
have  a good  job  of  her,  fwhedber  or  no.” 

“ Why,  will  he  want  a new  one,  do  you  think  ?” 

“ Shiss,  to  be  sure — would  y^e  tink  I’d  begin  to 
rwTif  for  him  on  dis  ould  skillet?  an’  be  de  token 
moreover,  dat  wouldn’t  be  afther  puttin’  nothin’  in 
your  pockets — hee ! hee ! hee  !” 

* A modest  periphrasis  for  a Hedge-School, 
t A slang  phrase  for  distil) ing. 


68 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Well,  all  that’s  right — don’t  work  for  him  wid- 
out  a new  one  complate,  Teddy — Still,  Head,  and 
Worm.” 

“ Shiss,  I tell  you  ; to  be  sure  I won’t — he  Lhried 
her  afore,  though.” 

“ Nonsense ! — no  he  didn’t.” 

“Ah,  ha!  ay,  dhin — an’  she  milked  well  too — a 
good  cow — a brave  cheehony  she  was  for  him.” 

“An’  why  did  he  give  it  up?” 

“Fwhy — fwhy,  afeard  he’d  be  diskivered,  to  be 
sure ; an’  dhin  shure  lie  couldn’t  hunt  wid  de  din- 
naoiiscds — wid  de  gentlemans.” 

“An’  what  if  he’s  discovered  now?” 

“ Fwhat  ? — fwhy  so  much  de  worsher  for  you  an’ 
me:  he’s  ginerous  now  an’  den,  anyway;  but  a 
great  rogue  afther  all,  fwhor  so  high  a hid  as  he 
carries.” 

“ If  I don’t  mistake,”  proceeded  Hogan,  “ either 
himself  or  his  family,  anyhow,  will  be  talked  of  be- 
fore this  time  to-morrow.” 

‘'  Eh,  Batt  ?”  asked  the  other,  who  had  changed 
his  position  and  sat  beside  him  during  this  dialogue 
— “ how  is  dhat  now  ?’’ 

“I  don’t  rightly  know — I can^t  say,”  replied 
Hogan,  with  a smile  murderously  grim  but  know- 
ing— “ I’m  not  up  ; but  the  sportheen’s  a made  boy, 
I think.” 

“ J)/ier  c/ieerna!  you  ar^up,”  said  Teddy,  giving 
him  a furious  glance  as  he  spoke ; “ there  must  be 
no  saycrits,  I say.” 

“ You’re  a blasted  liar,  I tell  you — I am  not  but 
I suspect — that’s  all.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


69 


‘‘What  brought  you  up  dhis  night  ?”  asked  Teddy, 
suspiciously. 

“Because  I hard  he  was  to  come,”  replied  his 
companion  ; “but  whether  or  not  I’d  be  here.” 

^'‘Thaslia  maigh — it’s  rigiit — may  be  so — shiss, 
it’s  all  right,  may  be  so — well?” 

Teddy,  although  he  said  it  was  all  right,  did  not 
seem  however  to  think  so.  The  furtive  and  sus- 
picious glance  which  he  gave  Hogan  from  under  his 
red  beetle  brows  should  be  seen  in  order  to  be  un- 
derstood. 

“Well?”  said  Hogan,  re-echoing  him — “it  is 
well;  an’  wliat  is  more,  my  Kate  is  to  be  up  here 
wid  a pair  o’  geese  to  roast  for  us,  for  we  must  make 
him  comfortable.  She  wint  to  tliry  her  hand  upon 
somebody’s  roost,  an’  it’ll  go  hard  if  she  fails  ! ” 

“ Fwhail ! ” exclaimed  Teddy,  with  a grin — “ ah, 
the  dioual  a fwhail ! ” 

“ An’  another  thing — he’s  cornin’  about  Kathleen 
Cavanagh — Hycy  is.  He  wants  to  gain  our  in- 
therest  about  her  ! ” 

“Well,  an’  what  harm?” 

“Maybe  there  is,  though:  it’s  whispered  that 
he — hut ! doesn’t  he  say  himself  that  there  isn’t  a 
girl  of  his  own  religion  in  the  parish  he'd  marry — 
now  I’d  like  to  see  them  married^  Teddy,  but  as  for 
anything  else — ” 

“ Hee ! hee  ! hee  ! — well,”  exclaimed  Teddy,  with 
a horrible  grimace  that  gave  his  whole  countenance 
a facequakc,  “ an’  maybe  he’s  right.  Maybe  it  ’udn’t 
be  aisy  to  get  a colleen  of  his  religion — I tink  his 
religion  is  fwhere  Phiddher  F white’s  estate  is  — be- 


70 


THE  EMIGKANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


yant  the  beyands,  where  the  mare  foaled  the  fwhid- 
dler — hee  ! hee  ! hee  ! ” 

‘‘  He  had  better  tliry  none  of  his  sckames  wid  any 
of  the  Cavanaghs,”  said  Bat,  “ fi>r  fraid  he  might  be 
brought  to  bed  of  a mistake  some  fine  day — that’s 
all  I say ; an’  there’s  more  eyes  than  mine  upon 
him.” 

This  dialogue  was  nearly  lost  in  the  loudness  of  a 
debate  wljich  had  originated  with  Keenan  and  cer- 
tain of  his  friends  in  the  lower  part  of  the  still-house. 
Some  misunderstanding  relative  to  the  families  of 
the  parties  about  to  be  united  had  arisen,  and  was 
rising  rapidly  into  a comparative  estimate  of  the 
prowess  and  strength  of  their  respective  factions, 
and  consequently  assuming  a very  belligerent  aspect, 
when  a tall,  lank,  but  powerful  female  made  her  ap- 
pearance, carrying  a large  bundle  in  her  hand. 

“ More  powder,  Kate ! ” exclaimed  Hogan.  “ I 
knew  slie  would,”  he  added,  digging  Teddy’s  ribs 
with  his  elbow. 

“ Aisy,  man  ! ” said  his  companion  ; ‘‘  if  you  love 
me,  say  so,  but  don’t  hint  it  dat  way.” 

“Show  forth,  Kate!”  proceeded  her  husband; 
“ let  us  see  the  prog — hillo  I — oh,  holy  Moses  ! what 
a pair  o’  beauties  1 ” 

He  then  whipped  up  a horn  measure,  that  con- 
tained certainly  more  than  a naggin,  and  putting  it 
under  the  warm  spirits  that  came  out  of  the  still-eye, 
handed  it  to  her.  She  took  it,  and  coming  up  to- 
wards the  fire,  which  threw  out  a strong  light,  nod- 
ded to  them,  and,  without  saying  a word,  literally 
pitched  it  down  her  throat,  whilst  at  the  same  time 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


71 


one  of  her  eyes  presented  undeniable  proofs  of  a 
recent  conflict.  We  Jiave  said  that  tliere  were 
several  persons  singing  and  dancing,  and  some 
asleep,  in  the  remoter  part  of  the  cave ; and  this 
was  true,  although  we  refrained  from  mingling  up 
either  their  mirth  or  melody  with  the  conversation 
of  the  principal  personages.  All  at  once,  however, 
a series  of  noises,  equally  loud  and  unexpected, 
startled  melodists,  conversationalists,  and  sleepers 
all  to  their  legs.  These  were  no  other  than  the 
piercing  cackles  of  two  alarmed  geese  which  Hogan’s 
wife  had  secured  from  some  neighboring  farmer,  in 
order  to  provide  a supper  for  our  friend  Ilycy. 

“ Ted,”  said  the  female,  “ I lost  my  knife  since  I 
came  out,  or  they’d  be  quiet  enough  before  this  • — 
lend  me  one  a minute,  you  blissid  babe.” 

“Shiss,  to  be  sure,  Kate,”  he  replied,  handing 
her  a large  clasp  knife  with  a frightful  blade ; “ an’, 
Kate,  whisper,  woman  alive — you’re  bought  up, 
I see.” 

“ How  is  that,  you  red  rascal  ? ” 

“ Bekaise,  don’t  I see  dat  de  purshaser  has  his 
mark  upon  ye  ? — hee ! hee ! hee ! ” and  he  pointed 
to  her  eye*  as  he  spoke. 

“ No^’  she  replied,  nodding  towards  her  husband, 
“that’s  his  handy  work ; an’,  ye  divil’s  clip  ! ” she 
added,  turning  to  Teddy,  “ who  has  a betther 
right  ? ” 

She  then  bled  the  geese,  and,  looking  about  her, 
asked — 

“Have  you  any  wet  hay  or  straw  in  the  place  ?” 

* A black  eye  is  said  to  be  the  devil’s  mark. 


72 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Ay,  plenty  of  bote,”  replied  Teddy ; “ an’  here’s 
de  greeshaugh  ready.” 

She  tlien  wraped  the  geese,  feathers  and  all,  sepa- 
rately in  a covering  of  wet  hay,  which  she  bound 
round  them  with  tliumb-ropes  of  the  same  material, 
and  clearing  away  a space  among  the  burning  ashes, 
placed  each  of  them  in  it,  and  covered  them  up 
closely. 

“ Now,”  said  she,  “ put  down  a pot  o’  praities,  and 
we  won’t  go  to  bed  fastin’.” 

The  dilFerent  groups  had  now  melted  into  one 
party,  much  upon  the  same  priticiple  that  the  vari- 
ous little  streamlets  on  the  mountains  around  them 
all  run,  when  swollen  by  a sudden  storm,  into  some 
larger  torrent  equally  precipitous  and  turbulent, 
Keenan,  who  was  one  of  those  pertinacious  fellows 
that  are  equally  quarrelsome  and  hospitable  when 
in  liquor,  now  resumed  the  debate  with  a charac- 
teristic impression  of  the  pugilistic  superiority  of  his 
family : — 

“ I am  right,  I say : I remember  it  well,  for  al- 
though I wasn’t  there  myself,  my  father  was,  aii’  I 
often  h’ard  him  say — God  rest  his  sowl ! ” — here  he 
reverently  took  off  his  hat  and  looked  upwards — “I 
often  h’ard  him  say  that  Paddy  Keenan  gave  Mullin 
the  first  knock-down  blow,  an’  Pether — I mane  no 
disrespect,  but  far  from  it — give  us  your  hand,  man 
alive — you’re  goin  to  be  married  upon  my  shisther 
to-morrow,  plaise  God  ! — masther,  you’ll  come,  re- 
mimber?  you’ll  be  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  o’ May, 
masther — so,  Pether,  as  I was  say  in’ — I mane  no 
oflance  nor  disrespect  to  you  or  yours,  for  you  are. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA.^ 


73 


an’  ever  was,  a daisent  family,  an’  well  able  to  fight 
your  corner  when  it  came  upon  you — but  still,  Pt^ther 
— ail’  for  all  that— I say  it— an’  I'll  stand  to  it — I’ll 
stand  to  it — that’s  the  chat ! — that,  man  for  man, 
tliere  never  was  one  o’  your  seed,  breed,  or  genera- 
tion able  to  fight  a Keenan — that’s  the  chat ! — here’s 
luck ! 

“ ‘ Oh,  ’twas  in  the  month  of  May, 

When  the  lambkins  sport  and  play, 

As  1 walked  out  to  j^ain  raycrayation, 

I espied  a comely  maijl. 

Sequestrin’  in  the  shade — 

On  her  beauty  I g;azed  wid  admiraytion.’ 

No,  Pether,  you  never  could  ; the  Mullins  is  good  ^ 
men — right  good  men,  but  they  couldn’t  do  it.” 

“ Barney,”  said  a brother  of  the  bridegroom, 
“ you  may  thank  God  that  Pether  is  going  to  be 
married  to  your  sislher  to-morrow,  as  you  say,  or 
we’d  larn  you  another  lesson — eh,  masiher  ? That’s 
the  cliat  too — ha!  ha!  ha!  To  the  divil  wid  sich 
impedence!” 

‘‘Gintlemen,”  said  Finigan,  now  staggering  down 
towards  the  parties,  “ I am  a man  of  pacific  princi- 
ples, acquainted  wid  the  lamed  languages,  wid  math- 
ematics, wid  philosophy,  the  science  of  morality  ac- 
cording to  Fluxions — I grant  you,  I’m  not  college- 
bred  ; but  gintlernen,  I never  invied  the  oysther  in 
its  shell — for,  gintlenien.  I’m  not  ashamed  of  it,  but 
I acquired — I absorbed  my  laming,  I may  say,  upon 
locomotive  principles.” 

“Bravo,  masther  ! ” said  Keenan;  “ that’s  what 
some  o’  them  couldn’t  say — ” 

“ Upon  locomotive  principles.  I admit  Munster, 

4 


74 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


gintlemen — ^glorious  Kerry  ! — yes,  and  I say  lam 
not  ashamed  of  it.  I do  plead  guilty  to  tlie  peri- 
patetic system  : like  a cornet  I travelled  during  my 
juvenile  days — as  I may  truly  assert  wid  a slight 
modicum  of  latitude  ” (here  he  lurched  considerahly 
to  the  one  side) — ‘‘from  star  to  star,  until  I was 
able  to  exhibit  all  their  brilliancy  united  simply,  I 
can  safely  assert,  in  my  own  humble  person.  Gin- 
tlemen, I have  the  honor  of  being  able  to  write 
‘Philomath’  after  my  name — which  is  O’Finigan, 
not  Finigan,  by  any  means — and  where  is  the  oyster 
in  his  shell  could  do  that?  Yes,  and  although  they 
refused  me  a sizarship  in  Trinity  College — for  what 
will  not  fear  and  envy  do  ? 

“ ‘ Tantoene  animis  celestibus  irce?  ’ 

Yet  I have  the  consolation  to  know  that  mj^  name  is 
seldom  mentioned  among  the  literati  of  classical 
Kerry — nudis  cruribus  as  they  are — except  as  the 
Great  O’Finigan  ! In  the  mane  time — ” 

“ Bravo,  masther !”  exclaimed  Keenan,  interrupt- 
ing him.  “Here,  Ted  ! another  bottle,  till  the  Great 
O’Finigan  gets  a glass  of  whisky.” 

“Yes,  gintlemen,”  proceeded  O’Finigan,  “the 
alcohol  shall  be  accepted,  naturalihus — which 
means,  in  its  native — or,  more  properly — but  which 
comes  to  the  same  thing — in  its  naked  state  ; and, 
in  the  mane  time,  I propose  the  health  of  one  of  my 
best  benefactors — Gerald  Cavanagh, whose  hospitable 
roof  is  a home — a domicillum  to  erudition  and  re- 
spectability, when  they  happen,  as  they  ought,  to  be 
legitimately  concatenated  in  the  same  person — as 
they  are  in  your  humble  servant ; and  I also  beg  leave 


THE  EMIGEANTS  OF  AHADARKA. 


75 


to  add  the  pride  of  the  barony,  his  fair  and  virtuous 
daughter,  Kathleen,  in  conjunction  wid  the  ncc«»m- 
]>lished  son  of  another  benefactor  of  mine — honest 
James  Burke — in  conjunclion,  I say,  wid  his  son  — 
]\Ir.  Hyacinth.  Ah,  gintlemen — Billy  Clinton,  y«»u 
tliieviii’  villain!  you  don’t  pay  attention;  I say, 
gintlemen,  if  I rnysidf  could  deduct  a score  years 
from  the  period  of  my  life,  I should  endeavor  to  run 
through  the  conjugations  of  amo  in  society  wid  that 
pearl  of  beauty.  In  the  mane  time — ” 

‘MIere’s  her  health,  masther,”  returned  Keenan, 
“ an’  her  father’s  too,  an’  llycy  Burke’s  into  the 
bargain — is  there  any  more  o’  them?  Well,  no  mat- 
ter.” Tiien  turning  to  his  antagonist,  he  added,  “I 
say  agin,  thin,  that  a Mullin’s  not  a match  for  a 
Keenan,  nor  never  was — no,  nor  never  will  be  ! That’s 
the  chat ! and  who’s  afeard  to  say  it  ? eh,  masiher?” 

“It's  a liel”  shouted  one  of  the  opp*»site  })arly; 
“I’m  able  to  lick  e’er  a Keenan  that  ever  went  on 
nate’s  leather — an’  that’s  my  chat.” 

A blow  from  Keenan  in  reply  was  like  a spark  to 
gur^powder.  in  a moment  the  cavern  presented  a 
scene  singularly  tragi-Cv>mic ; the  whole  party  was 
one  busy  mass  of  battle,  witli  the  exception  of  Ted 
and  Batt,  and  the  wife  of  the  latter,  who,  having  first 
hastily  put  aside  everything  tliat  might  be  injured, 
stood  eiijoyiitg  the  conflict  with  most  ferocious  gloe, 
the  schoolmnsfer  having  already  withdrawn  himself 
to  his  chair.  Even  Barney  Broghan,  the  fool,  could 
not  keep  quiet,  but  on  the  contrary  thrust  himself 
into  the  quarrel,  and  began  to  strike  imliscriminalely 
at  all  who  came  in  his  way,  until  an  unlucky  blow 


76 


THE  E]\rTGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


on  the  no»e  liappening  to  draw  hh  claret  very  co- 
piously, he  made  a hound  up  behind  tlie  sill,  utter- 
ing a series  of  howling-j,  as  from  lime  to  time  he 
looked  at  his  own  blood,  that  were  amusing  in  the 
extreme.  As  it  happened,  however,  the  influence  of 
liquor  was  too  strong  U[)on  both  parties  to  enable 
tliem  to  inflict  on  each  other  an  serious  injury.  Sucli, 
Imwever,  was  the  midnight  pastime  of  the  still-house 
when  our  friend  llycy  entered. 

“What  in  the  devirs  name — or  the  guager’s — 
which  is  worse” — he  asked,  addressing  himself  to 
Bait  and  Ted<ly,  “is  the  meaning  of  all  this?” 

“Faitiq  you  know  a’most  as  much  about  it,”  re- 
plied Hogan,  buigliing,  “ as  we  do  ; they  got  drunk, 
an’  that  accounts  for  it.” 

“ Mr.  Burke,”  said  Finigan,  wdio  was  now  quite 
tij)sy ; “ I am  delighted  to  be  able  to — to — yes,  it  is 
he,”  he  added,  speaking  to  himself — “ to  see  you 
well.” 

“I  have  my  doubts  as  to  that,  Mr.  Finigan,”  re- 
plied Tlycy. 

“Fame,  Mr.  Burke,”  continued  the  other,  “has 
not  been  silent  with  regard  to  your  ex]>loits.  Your 
horsemansliip,  sir,  and  the  intrepid  pertinacity  witli 
widch  YOU  fasten  n|)on  the  reluctant  society  ol  men 
of  rank  have  given  turn  a not<»riotis  ct-kbrity,  of 
which  your  worthy  father,  honest  Jemtny,  as  he  is 
called,  ought  to  be  justly  proml.  And  you  shine, 
Mr.  Buiko,  in  the  loves  as  well  as  in  the— tarn  veneri 
qnam — I was  about  to  add  Marti^  but  it  Wi)ul<l  be 
inapprojniate,  or  might  only  remind  you  of  poor 
Biddy  Martin.  It  is  well  known  you  are  a most  ac- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


n 


complished  ginlleman,  Mr.  Burke — homo  factus  ad 
Uhguem  — ad  unguem,"*^ 

Ilycy  would  have  interrupted  the  schoolmaster, 
but  that  lie  felt  juizzled  as  to  whether  he  spoke 
seriously  or  ironically  ; his  attention  besides  was  di- 
vided belwetiii  him  and  the  party  in  conflict. 

'‘Come,”  said  he,  addressing  Hogan  and  Tedd}’', 
‘‘put  an  end  to  this  work,  and  why  did  you,  you 
misbegotten  vagabond,”  he  added,  turning  to  the 
latter,  “ suffer  these  fellovvs  to  remain  here  when  you 
knew  I was  to  come  up?” 

“I  must  shell  my  fvvisky,”  replied  Teddy,  sullenly, 
“fwhedher  you  come  or  stay.” 

“It*  you  don't  clear  the  place  of  them  instantly,” 
replied  Hycy,  “ I shall  return  home  again.” 

Hogan  seemed  a good  deal  alarmed  at  this  intima- 
tion, and  said — “ Ay,  indeed,  Teddy,  we  had  better 
]3ut  them  out  o’  this.” 

“Fwlior  fwhal?”  asked  Teddy,  “dere  my  best 
customers  share — an’  Iwhy  would  I quarrel  wid 
’em  all  fwlior  wan  man  ?” 

Good-night,  then,  you  mis-shapen  ruffian,”  said 
Burke,  about  to  go. 

“ Aisy,  Misther  Burke,”  said  Hogan;  “we’ll  soon 
make  short  work  wid  them.  Here,  Ted,  you  devil’s 
catch-penny,  come  an’  help  me!  Hillo,  here!”  he 
shouted,  “ what  are  you  at,  you  gallows  crew?  Do 
you  want  to  go  to  the  stone  jug,  i say  ? Be  off  out 
o’  this — here's  the  guager,  blast  him,  an’  the  sogers  ! 
Clear  out,  I tell  you,  or  every  mother’s  son  of  you 
will  sleep  undher  the  skull  and  cross-bones  to- 
night.”* 


* Meaning  the  county  prison. 


78 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Here  yon,  Barney,”  whispered  Teddy,  who  cer- 
tainly did  not  wish  that  Burke  should  return  as 
he  came;  “here,  you  great  big  fwhool  you,  give 
past  your  yowling’  dere — and  lookin’  at  your  blood 
— run  out  dere,  come  in  an’  shout  de  gauger  an’  de 
sogers.” 

Barney,  who  naturally  imagined  that  the  intelli- 
gence was  true,  complied  with  the  order  he  received 
in  a spirit  ot*  such  alarming  and  drea<lful  earnest- 
ness, that  a few  minutes  found  the  still-house  com- 
ph^tely  cleared  of  the  two  parties,  not  excepting 
Ilogan  himself,  who  having  heard  nothimg  of  Teddy’s 
directions  to  the  fool,  took  it  now  for  granted  that 
that  alarm  w^as  a real  one,  and  ran  along  with  the 
rest.  The  schoolmaster  had  fallen  asleep,  Kate 
Ilogan  was  engaged  in  making  preparations  for  sup- 
per at  the  lower  end  of  the  cavern,  and  the  fool  had 
been  dispatched  to  fetch  Ilogan  himself  back,  so 
that  Ilycy  now  saw  there  was  a good  opportunity 
for  stating  at  more  length  than  he  could  in  the  mar- 
ket the  purpose  of  his  visit. 

“Teddy,”  said  he,  “ now  that  the  coast’s  clear, 
let  us  lose  no  time  in  coming  to  the  point.  You  are 
aware  that  Bryan  M’Mahon  has  come  into  the 
mountain  farm  of  Ahadarra,  by  the  death  of  his 
uncle.” 

“Shiss;  dese  three  years.” 

“ You  will  stick  to  your  cursed  brogue,”  said  the 
other;  “however  that’s  your  own  affair.  You  are 
aware  of  this  ? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ Well,  I have  made  my  mind  up  to  take  another 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


79 


turn  at  and  he  tapped  the  side  of  the  still  with 

liis  stick ; “ and  I’ll  try  it  there.  I don’t  know  a 
better  place,  and  it  is  much  more  convenient  than 
this.” 

Teddy  looked  at  him  from  under  his  brows,  but 
seemed  rather  at  a loss  to  comprehend  his  meaning. 

“ Fwor  fhy  ’ud  you  go  to  Ahadarra?  ” 

‘‘  It’s  more  convenient,  and  quite  as  well  adapted 
for  it  as  this  place,  or  nearly.” 

“Well!  Shiss,  well?” 

“Well;  why  that’s  all  I have  to  say  about  it,  ex- 
cept that  I’m  not  to  be  seen  or  known  in  the  busi- 
ness at  all — mark  that.” 

“Shiss — well?  De  Hogans  must  know  it.” 

“ I am  aware  of  that ; we  couldn’t  go  on  without 
them.  This  running  of  yours  will  soon  be  over; 
very  well.  You  can  go  to  Ahadarra  to-morrow  and 
pitch  upon  a proper  situation  for  a house.  These  im- 
plements will  do.” 

“ No,  dey  won’t;  I wouldn’t  tink  to  begin  at  all 
wdd  dat  ould  skillet.  You  must  get  de  Hogans  to 
make  a new  Still-Head,  and  Worm,  an’  dat  will  be 
money  down.” 

“Very  well;  I’ll  provide  the  needful;  let  Philip 
call  to  me  in  a day  or  two.” 

“ Hat  Ahadarra  isn’t  so  safe,”  said  Teddy. 
“Fwhy  wouldn't  you  carry  it  on  here?'^'^  and  he 
accompanied  the  query  with  a i)ieicing  glance  as  he 
spoke. 

“Because,”  replied  Hycy,  “I  have  been  seen  here 
too  often  already,  and  iny  name  must  n^t  in  any  uay 
be  connected  with  your  proceedings.  This  place, 


80 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


besides,  is  now  too  much  known.  It’s  best  and  safest 
to  change  our  bob,  Ted.” 

‘‘Dere’s  trewl  in  dhat,  any  how,”  said  the  other, 
now  evidently  more  satisfied  as  to  Ilycy’s  motive  in 
changing.”  “ But,”  he  added,  “as  you  is  now  to 
shange,  it  ’ud  be  gooder  to  shange  to  some  better 
place  nor  Ahadarra.” 

“I  know  of  none  better  or  safer,”  said  Burke. 

“Ay,  fifty,”  returned  his  companion,  resuming 
his  suspicious  looks;  “but  no  matther,  any  way 
you  must  only  plaise  yerself — ’tis  all  de  shame  to  me.” 

“ Ahadarra  it  must  be,  then,”  said  the  other,  “ and 
that  ends  it.” 

“Vary  well,  den,  Ahadarra  let  her  be,”  said  Ted, 
and  the  conversation  on  this  subject  dropped. 

The  smuggler’s  supper  now  made  its  appearance. 
The  geese  were  beautifully  done,  and  as  Hycy’s  ap- 
petite had  got  a keen  stimulus  by  his  mountain  walk, 
he  rendered  them  ample  justice. 

“Trot,”  said  Teddy,  “ sich  a walk  as  you  liad 
droo  de  mountains  was  enough  to  sharpen  anybody’s 
appetite.” 

Hogan  also  plied  him  with  punch,  having  provid- 
ed himself  with  sugar  for  that  express  purpose. 
Hycy,  however,  was  particularly  cautious,  and  for 
a long  time  declined  to  do  more  than  take  a little 
spirits  and  water.  It  was  not,  in  fact,  until  he  had 
introduced  the  name  of  Kathleen  Cavanagh  that  lie 
consented  to  taste  punch.  Between  the  two,  how- 
ever, Burke’s  vanity  was  admirably  played  on  ; and 
Hogan  wound  up  the  dialogue  by  hinting  that  Hycy, 
no  matter  how  appearances  might  go,  was  by  no 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


81 


means  indifferent  to  the  interesting:  dauschter  of  the 
Louse  of  Cavanagh. 

At  length,  when  the  night  was  far  advanced, 
Burke  rose,  and  taking  Ids  leave  like  a man  who  had 
forgotten  some  appointinimt,  hut  with  a very  pomp- 
ous degree  of  condescension,  sought  his  way  in  the 
direction  of  liome,  across  the  mountains. 

He  had  scarcely  gone,  when  Hogan,  as  if  struck 
hy  a sudden  recollection,  observed  that  he  ihouglit 
it  would  be  ungenerous  to  allow  Idrn,  at  that  hour 
of  the  night,  to  cross  the  mountains  by  himself.  lie 
accordingly  whispered  a few  words  to  his  wife,  and 
left  them  with  an  intention,  as  he  said,  to  see  Mr. 
Hycy  safe  home. 


82 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHO  ROBBED  JEMMY  BURKE  ? 

On  the  second  morning  after  the  night  described 
in  the  last  chapter,  Bryan  M’ Mahon  ha<l  just  return- 
ed to  his  father’s  house  from  his  farm  in  Ahadarra, 
for  the  purpose  ol  accompanying  him  lo  an  Emigra- 
tion auction  in  the  neighborhood.  Tiie  two  farms  of 
Carriglass  and  Ahadarra  had  been  in  tlie  family  of 
the  M’Mahon’s  for  generations,  and  were  the  proper- 
ty of  the  same  landlord.  About  three  years  pre- 
vious to  the  period  of  our  narrative,  Toal  M’Mahon, 
Bryan’s  uncle,  died  of  an  inflammatory  attack,  leav- 
ing to  his  eldest  nephew  and  favorite  the  stock  farm 
of  Ahadarra.  Toal  had  been  a bachelor  who  lived 
wildly  and  extravagantly,  and  when  lie  died  Bryan 
succeeded  to  the  farm,  then  as  wild,  by  the  way,  and 
as  much  neglected  as  its  owner  had  been,  with  an 
arrear  of  two  years’  rent  upon  it.  In  fact  the  house 
and  offices  had  gone  nearly  to  wreck,  and  when 
Bryan  entered  into  occupation  he  found  that  a large 
sum  of  money  sliould  be  expended  in  necessary  im- 
provements ere  the  place  could  assume  anything  like 
a decent  appearance.  As  a holding,  however,  it 
was  reasonable ; and  we  may  safely  assert  that  if 
Toal  M’Mahon  had  been  either  industrious  or  care- 
ful he  might  have  lived  and  died  a wealthy  man 
upon  it.  As  Ahadarra  lay  in  a mountain  district,  it 
necessarily  covered  a large  space ; in  fact  it  consti- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


83 


tuted  a townland  in  itself.  The  greater  portion  of 
it,  no  doubt,  was  barren  mountain,  but  then  there 
Were  about  three  liundred  acres  of  strong  rough  land 
th  it  was  eitlier  reclaimed  or  capable  of  being  so. 
Bryan,  wlio  had  not  only  energy  and  activity,  but 
capital  to  support  both,  felt,  on  becoming  master  of 
a separate  farm,  tijat  peculiar  degree  of  pride  which 
was  only  natural  to  a young  and  enterprising  man. 
He  had  now  a fair  opportunity,  he  thought,  of  letting 
his  friends  see  what  skill  and  persevering  exertion 
could  do.  Accordingly  he  commenced  his  improve- 
ments in  a spirit  wliich  at  least  deserved  success. 
He  proceeded  upon  the  best  system  then  known  to 
intelliorent  ascriculturalists,  and  nothing  was  left 
undone  that  he  deemed  necessary  to  work  out  his 
purposes.  He  drained,  reclaimed,  made  fences, 
roads,  and  enclosures.  Nor  did  he  stop  here.  We 
said  that  the  house  and  offices  were  in  a ruinous 
state  when  they  came  into  his  possession,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  build 
a new  dwelling  house  and  suitable  offices,  which  he 
did  on  a more  commodious  and  eligible  site.  Alto- 
gether his  expenditure  on  the  farm  could  not  have 
been  less  than  eight  hundred  pounds  at  the  period 
of  the  landlord’s  death,  which,  as  the  reader  knows 
is  that  at  which  we  have  commenced  our  narrative. 

Thomas  M’Mahon’s  family  consisted  of — first,  his 
father,  a grey-haired  patriarch,  who,  though  a very 
old  man,  was  healthy  and  in  tliefull  possession  of  all 
liis  faculties ; next,  himself;  then  his  wile;  Bryan, 
the  j)roprietor  of  Ahadarra;  two  other  sons,  both 
younger,  and  two  daughters,  the  eldest  twenty,  and 


84 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


the  youngest  about  eighteen.  The  name  of  the 
latter  was  Dora,  a sweet  and  gentle  girl,  with  beau- 
tiful auburn  liair,  dark,  brilliant  eyes,  full  of  intel- 
. lect  and  feeling,  an  exquisite  mouth,  and  a figure 
whieh  was  remarkable  for  natural  grace  and  great 
symmetry. 

“ Well,  Bryan,”  said  the  father,  “ what  news  from 
Ahadarra?” 

“Nothing  particular  from  Ahadarra,”  replied  the 
son,  “but  our  good-natured  friend,  Jemrny  Burke, 
had  his  house  broken  open  and  robbed  the  night 
before  last.” 

“ TFwrm/i  dhedhh^'*  exclaimed  his  mother,  “no, 
he  hadn’t ! ” 

“ Well,  mother,”  replied  Bryan,  laughing,  “ maybe 
not.  I’m  afeard  it’s  too  true  though.” 

“An’  how  much  did  he  lose?  ” asked  his  father. 

“ Between  sev^enty  and  eighty  pounds,”  said 
Bryan. 

“ It’s  too  much,”  observed  the  other ; “ still  I’m 
glad  it’s  no  more;  an’  since  the  villains  did  take  it, 
it’s  well  they  tuck  it  from  a man  that  can  afiord  to 
lose  it.” 

“By  all  accounts,”  said  Arthur,  or,  as  he  was 
called.  Art,  “ Ilycy,  the  sportheen^  has  pulled  him 
down  a bit.  lie’s  not  so  lich  now,  they  say,  as  lie 
was  three  or  four  years  ago.” 

“He’s  rich  enough  still,”  observed  his  father; 
“but  at  any  rate,  upon  my  sowl  I’m  sorry  for  him  ; 
he’s  the  crame  of  an  honest, kind-hearted  neighbor  ; 
an’  I believe  in  my  conscience  if  there’s  a man  alive 
that  hasn’t  an  ill-wisher,  he  is.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


85 


“ Is  it  known  who  robbed  him  ? ” asked  the  grand- 
father, “or  does  lie  suspect  anybody  ? ” 

“ It’s  not  known,  of  course,  grandfather,  “ replied 
Bryan,  “ or  I suppose  they  would  be  in  limbo  before 
now;  but  there’s  quare  talk  about  it.  The  Hogans 
is  suspected,  it  seems.  Philip  was  caught  examinin’ 
the  hall-door  the  night  before ; an’  that  does  look 
suspicious.” 

“Ay,”  said  the  old  man,  “ an’  very  likely  they’re 
the  men.  I remember  them  this  many  a h)ng  day  ; 
it’s  forty  years  since  Andy  Hogan — he  was  lame — 
Andy  Boccah  they  called  liim — was  hanged  for  tlie 
murdher  of  your  great-granduncle,  Billy  Slievlin,  of 
Fnighmore,  so  that  they  don’t  like  a bone  in  our 
bodies.  That  was  the  only  murdher  I remember  of 
them,  but  many  a robbery  was  laid  to  their  charge  ; 
an’  every  now  and  then  there  was  always  sure  to  be 
an  odd  one  transported  for  thievin’,  an’  house-break- 
in’,  and  sich  villainy.” 

“I  wouldn’t  be  surprised,”  said  Mrs.  M’Mahon, 
“but  it  was  some  o’  them  tuck  our  two  brave  geese 
tlie  night  before  last.” 

“Very  likely,  im  throth,  Bridget,”  said  her  hus- 
band; “however,  as  the  ould  proverb  has  it, ‘hon- 
esty’s the  best  policy.’  Let  tliem  see  which  of  us  ’ill 
be  the  best  off  at  the  end  of  the  year.” 

“ There’s  an  odd  whisper  here  an’  there  about  an- 
otlier  robber,”  continued  Bryan;  “but  I don’t  be- 
lieve a word  about  it.  No,  no; — he’s  wild,  and  not 
scrupulous  in  many  things,  but  I always  thought 
him  generous,  an’  indeed  rather  careless  about 
money.” 


86 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘You  mane  the  sporthecn  ? said  his  brother  Art. 

“The  IIoga!)s,”  said  the  old  man,  recurring  to  the 
subject,  as  associated  with  them,  “would  rob  any- 
body barriii’  the  Cavanaghs;  but  I won’t  listen  to 
it,  Bryan,  that  Hycy  Burke,  or  the  son  of  any  honest 
man  that  ever  had  an  opporlunity  of  heariii’  the 
Word  o’  God,  or  livin’  in  a Christian  counthry,  could 
ever  tiiink  of  robbin’  his  own  father — his  own  fath- 
er 1 I won’t  listen  to  that.” 

“No,  nor  I,  grandfather,”  said  Bryan,  “putting 
everything  else  out  of  the  question  its  too  unnatural 
an  act.  What  makes  you  shake  your  head.  Art  ?” 

“ I never  liked  a bone  in  his  body,  somehow,”  re- 
plied Art. 

“ Ay,  but  my  goodness.  Art,”  said  Dora,  “ sure 
nobody  would  thing  of  robbin’  their  own  father?” 

“lie  has  been  doin’  little  else  these  three  years, 
Dora,  by  all  accounts,”  replied  Art. 

“Ay,  but  his  father,”  continued  the  innocent  girl ; 
“ to  break  into  the  house  at  night  an’  rob  him  like  a 
robber ! ” 

“ Well,  r say",  it’s  reported  that  he  has  been  rob- 
bin’ him  these  three  years  in  one  shape  or  other,” 
continued  Art;  “bui  here’s  Shibby,  let’s  hear  what 
Bhe’ll  say.  What  do  you  think,  Shibby  ?” 

“ About  what,  Art  ?” 

“Tliat  Hycy  Burke  would  rob  his  father !” 

“Hut,  tut ! Art,  what  puts  that  into  your  head  ? 
Oh,  no.  Art — not  at  all — to  rob  his  father,  an’  him 
has  been  so  indulgent  to  him  !” 

“Indeed,  T agree  witii  you,  Sliibby,”  said  Bryan  ; 
“ for  although  my  opinion  of  Hycy  is  changed  very 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


87 


much  for  the  worse  of  late,  still  I can’t  and  won’t 
give  in  to  that.” 

“All  what  has  changed  it  for  the  worse?”  asked 
Ids  mother.  “ You  an’  he  wor  very  thick  togellier 
always — eh  ? What  has  changed  it,  Bryan?” 

Bryan  began  to  rub  his  hand  down  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  as  if  fiveing  it  from  dust,  or  perhaps  ad- 
miring its  fabric,  but  made  no  reply. 

“ Eh,  Bryan,”  she  continued,  “ what  has  changed 
your  opinion  of  him?” 

“Oh,  nothing  of  much  consequence,  mother,”  re- 
plied her  son ; “ but  sometimes  a feather  will  tell 
one  how  the  wind  blows.” 

“As  he  spoke,  it  might  have  been  observed  that 
he  looked  around  upon  the  family  with  an  appear- 
ance of  awakened  consciousness  that  was  very  near- 
ly allied  to  shame.  He  recovered  his  composure, 
however,  on  perceiving  that  none  among  them  gave, 
either  by  look  or  manner,  any  indication  of  under- 
standing what  he  felt.  Tliis  relieved^  him  ; but  he 
soon  found  that  the  sense  of  relief  experienced  from 
it  was  not  permitted  to  last  long.  Dora,  his  favor- 
ite sister,  glided  over  to  his  side  and  gently  taking 
his  hand  in  hers  began  to  play  with  his  fingers, 
whilst  a roguish  laugh,  that  spoke  a full  c mscious- 
ness  of  his  secret,  broke  her  pale  but  beautiful  fea- 
tures into  that  mingled  expression  of  smiles  and 
blushes  which,  in  one  of  her  years,  gives  a look  of 
almost  angelic  purit  y and  grace.  After  about  a mi- 
nute or  two,  during  which  she  paused,  and  laughed, 
and  blushed,  and  commenced  to  whisper,  and  again 
stopped,  she  at  last  put  her  lips  to  his  ear  and 


88 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


M'liispered  : — “Bryan,  Zknow  the  reason  you  don’t 
like  Ilycy.” 

“You  do?”  he  said,  laughing,  but  yet  evidently 
confused  in  his  turn;  “well — an’ — ha! — hal—no, 
you  fool,  you  don’t.” 

“ May  1 never  stir  if  I don’t !” 

“Well,  an’  what  is  it?’^ 

“ Wiiy,  bekaise  he’s  coortin’  Kathleen  Cavanagh 
— now  !” 

“ An’  what  do  I care  about  that?”  said  her  brother. 

“ Oh,  you  tliief !”  she  replied;  “don’t  think  you 
can  play  upon  me.  I know  your  saycret.” 

“An’  maybe,  Dora,”  he  replied,  “I  have  my  say- 
crets.  Do  you  know  who  was  inquirin’  for  you 
to-day?” 

“ No,”  she  returned,  “nor  I don't  care  either — 
sorra  bit.” 

“J  met  James  Cavanagh  there  below” — he  pro- 
ceeded, still  in  a whisper,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
her  countenance  as  he  spoke.  The  words,  however, 
produced  a most  extraordinary  effect.  A deep 
blush  crimsoned  her  Avhole  neck  and  face,  until  tlie 
rush  of  blood  seemed  absolutely  to  become  expres- 
sive of  pain.  Her  eye,  however,  did  not  droop,  but 
turned  upon  him  wiidi  a firm  and  peculiar  sparkle. 
She  had  been  stooping  with  her  mouth  near  his  ear, 
as  tlm  reader  knows,  but  she  now  stood  up  quickly, 
shook  back  her  hair,  that  h.ad  been  hanging  in  natu- 
ral and  silken  curls  about  her  blushing  cheeks,  and 
exclaimed  : “ No — no.  Let  me  alone  Bryan  ;”  and 
on  uttering  these  words  she  hurried  into  another 


room. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


89 


“Bryan,  you’ve  vexed  Dora  some  way,”  observed 
her  s’h'^ter.  “What  did  you  say  to  her?” 

“Nothing  lliat  vexed  lier.  I’ll  go  bail,”  lie  re- 
])lied,  l.uighing;  “however,  as  to  wliat  I said  to 

lier,  Shibby,  ax  me  no  questions  an’  I’ll  tell  you  no 

lies. ” 

“Beciise  I thought  she  looked  as  if  she  was 
angry,”  continued  Shibby,  “an’,  you  know,  it 
must  be  a strong  provocation  tliat  would  anger 
herr 

“Ah,  you’re  fishin’  now,  Shibby,”  he  re])lie<l,  “and 
many  thanks  for  your  good  intentions.  It’s  a say- 
cret,  an’  that’s  all  you’re  going  to  know  about  it. 
But  it’s  as  much  as  ’ill  keep  you  on  the  look  out  this 
moiitli  to  come  ; and  now  you’re  punished  for  your 
curio'ity — ha! — lia  ! — lia  ! Come,  fither,  if  we’re 
to  go  to  S.im  Wallace’s  auction  it’s  lime  we  should 
think  of  movin’.  Art,  go  an’  help  Tom  Droogan  to 
bring  out  the  horses.  Rise  your  foot  here,  lather, 
an’  I’ll  put  on  your  spur  for  yon.  We  may  as  well 
spake  to  Mr.  Fethertonge,  the  agent,  about  the  leases. 
I ])romised  we’d  call  on  Gerald  Cavanagh  to — an’ 
he’ll  be  waitin’  for  us — liem  !” 

His  eye  here  glanced  about  but  Dora  was 
not  visible,  and  he  accordingly  seemed  to  be 
more  at  his  ease.  “ I think,  father,”  ho  added,  “ I 
must  trate  you  to  a ])air  of  spurs  some  of  these  days. 
Titis  one,  ii’s  clear,  has  been  a long  time  in  the 
family.” 

“ Throth,  an’  on  that  account,”  replied  M’Mahon, 
“I’m  not  goin’  to  part  wid  it  for  tlie  best  pair  that 
ever  were  made.  No,  no,  Bryan;  I like  everything 


90 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  A RR  A. 


that  Tve  known  long.  When  my  lieart  gets  accus- 
t<»me<l  to  anything  or  to  anybody” — here  he  glanc- 
ed affectionately  at  his  wife — “ I can’t  bear  to  part 
M’id  them,  or  to  tiiink  of  partin’  wid  them.” 

The  horses  were  now  ready,  and  in  a brief  space 
lie  and  his  son  were  decently  mounted,  the  latter 
smartly  but  not  inappropriately  dressed  ; and  M’- 
Mahon  himself,  with  his  right  spur,  in  a sober  but 
comfortable  suit,  over  wliicli  was  a huge  Jock,  his 
inseparable  companion  in  every  fair,  market,  and 
other  public  place,  during  the  whole  year.  Indeed, 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  two  better  representa- 
tives of  tliat  respectable  and  independent  class  of 
Irish  yeomanry  of  wliich  our  nnf  rtunate  country 
stands  so  much  in  need,  as  was  this  man  of  high  in- 
tegrity and  his  excellent  son. 

On  arriving  at  Gerald  Cavanagh’s,  which  was  on 
their  way  to  the  auction,  it  appeared  that  in  order 
to  have  his  company  it  was  necessary  they  should 
wait  for  a little,  as  he  was  not  yet  ready.  That 
worlhy  man  they  found  in  the  act  of  shaving  him- 
self, seated  very  upright  upon  a chair  in  the  kitchen, 
his  eyes  fixed  with  great  steadiness  upon  the  oppo- 
site wall,  whilst  lying  between  his  legs  upon  the 
ground  was  a wooden  dish  half  filled  wdih  water, 
and  on  a chair  beside  hiai  a small  looking-glass, 
with  its  back  up,  which,  after  feeling  his  face  from 
time  to  limein  an  experimental  ma»»ner,  heoccasi(»n* 
ally  peeped  into,  and  again  laid  down  to  resume  the 
opiaation. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Cavanagh  set  forward  a 
chair  for  Tom  M'Malion,  and  desired  her  daughter 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


91 


Hanna  to  place  one  for  Bryan,  which  she  did.  The 
two  girls  were  spinning,  and  it  might  have  been  ob- 
served that  Kathleen  appeared  to  apply  herself  to 
that  becoming  and  feminine  employment  w'ith  dou- 
ble industry  after  the  appearance  of  the  M’Mahons. 
Kate  Hogan  was  sitting  in  the  chimney  corner, 
smoking  a pipe,  and  as  she  took  it  out  of  her 
mouth  to  whiff  away  the  smoke  from  time  to  time, 
she  turned  her  black  piercing  eyes  alternately  from 
Bryan  M’Mahon  to  Kathleen  with  a j^eciiliar  keen- 
ness of  scrutiny. 

“ An’  how  are  you  all  up  at  Carriglass  ?”  asked 
Mrs.  Cavan agh. 

“ Indeed  we  can’t  complain,  thank  God,  as  the 
times  goes,”  replied  M'Malion. 

“ An’ the  ould  grandfather? — musha,  but  I was 
glad  to  see  him  look  so  well  on  Sunday  last!” 

“ Troth  he’s  as  stout  as  e’er  a one  of  us.” 

“The  Lord  continue  it  to  him!  I suppose  you 
hard  o’  this  robbery  that  was  done  at  honest  Jemmy 
Burke’s  ?” 

“ I did,  indeed,  an’  I was  sorry  to  hear  if” 

“A  hundie’  an’  fifty  pounds  is  a terrible  loss  to 
anybody  in  such  times.” 

“A  hundre’  an’  fifty!”  exclaimed  M’Mahon — 
“hut,  tut! — no;  I thought  it  was  only  sevenly  or 
eighty.  He  did  not  lose  so  much,  did  he?” 

“ So  I’m  tould.”. 

“ It  was  two — um — it  was  two — um — um — it  was 
— um — um — it  was  tw^o  hundre’  itself,”  observed 
Cavanagh,  after  he  had  finished  a portion  of  the 
operation,  and  given  himself  an  opportunity  of 


92 


THE  EMIGEANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


speaking — “it  was  two  hiindre’  itself,  I’m  tould,  an* 
tliat’s  too  mucli,  by  a bund  re’  and  ninety-nine 
pounds  nineteen  sliillings  an’  eleven  pence  tlireefar- 
dens,  to  be  robbed  of.” 

“Troth  it  is  Gerald,”  replied  ]\[’Ma]ion ; “but 
any  way  there’s  nothin’  but  thievin’  an’  robbin’ 
goin’.  You  didn’t  hear  that  we  came  in  for  a visit  ?” 

“You!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavanagh — “is  it  rob- 
bed ? My  Goodness,  no ! ” 

“ Why,”  he  proceeded,  “ we’ll  be  able  to  get  over 
it  afore  we  die,  I hope.  On  ere  last  night  we  had 
two  of  our  fattest  geese  stolen.” 

“Two  !”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavanagh — “an’  at  this 
saison  of  the  year,  too.  Well,  that  same’s  a loss.” 

“ Tloiiest  woman,”  said  M’Mahon,  addressing 
Kate  Hogan,  “maybe  you’d  give  me  a draw  o’  the 
pipe  ?” 

“ Maybe  so,”  she  replied ; “ an*  why  wouldn’t  I ? 
Shough!'^^  that  inhere! 

“Longlife  to  you,  Katy.  Well,”  proceeded  the 
worthy  man,  “if  it  was  a poor  person  that  wanted 
them  an’  that  took  them  from  hardsiiip,  why  God 
forgive  them  as  heartily^  as  Ido:  btit  if  they  wor 
stole  by  a thief,  for  thieven’s  sake,  I hope  Til  always 
be  able  to  afford  the  loss  of  a pair  betther  than  the 
thief  will  to  do  without  them  ; althougli  God  mend 
his  heart  or  lier  heart,  whichever  it  was,  in  the  mane 
time.” 

During  this  chat  Bryan  and  Hanna  Cavanagh 
were  engaged  in  tliat  good-humored  badinage  that 
is  common  to  persons  of  their  age  and  position, 

“I  didn’t  see  you  at  Mass  last  Sunday,  Bryan?’* 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA; 


93 


said  she,  laughing;  “an’  that’s  the  way  you  attend 
to  your  devotions.  Up  ui  my  word  you  promise 
well'!” 

“I  seen  you,  then,”  replied  Bryan;  “so  it  seems 
if  I liaveii’c  betther  eyes  I have  betther  eyesight.” 

“Indeed  I suppose,”  she  replied,  “you  see  every- 
thiiig  but  what  you  go  to  see.” 

“Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,”  he  replied,  with  an 
involuntary  glance  at  Kathleen,  who  seemed  to  en- 
joy her  sister’s  liveliness,  as  was  evident  from  tlie 
sweet  and  complacent  smile  which  beamed  upon  her 
features. 

“ Indeed  I suppose  you’re  right,”  she  replied  ; “ I 
suppose  you  go  to  say  every  tiling  but  your  prayers.” 

“ An’ is  it  in  conversation  willi  Jemmy  Kelly,” 
asked  Bryan,  jocularly,  alluding  to  her  supposeil  ad-, 
mirer,  “ that  you  perform  your  own  devotions,  Miss 
Hanna  ? ” 

“Hanna,  achora,”  said  the  father,  “ I think  you’re 
playin’  the  second  fiddle  there — ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” 

Tiie  laugh  was  now  general  against  Hanna,  who 
laughed  as  loudly,  however,  as  any  of  them. 

“ Tiiruth,  Kathleen,”  she  exclaimed,  “ you’re  not 
worth  knots  o’  straws  or  you’d  help  me  against  this 
fi  Ho  where;  have  you  nothing,”  she  proceeded,  ad- 
dressing Bryan,  and  nodding  towards  her  sister,  “ to 
say  to  her?  Is  everything  to  fallen  my  poor  shoul- 
ders ? Come,  now,”  with  another  nod  in  the  same 
direciion,  “ she  desarv'es  it  for  not  assistin’  me.  Who 
does  she  say  her  devotions  with  ?” 

“ Ilem — a — is  it  Kathleen  you  mane  ? ” he  inquired, 
with  rather  an  embarrassed  look. 


94 


THE  EMIGRAOTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


“Not  at  all,”  slie  replied  ironically,  “but  my 
mother  there — ^ha!  ha!  hal  Come,  now,  we’re 
waitin’  for  you.” 

“Come,  now?”  he  repeated,  purposely  misunder- 
standing her — “oil,  begad,  that's  a fair  challenge;” 
and  he  accordingly  rose  to  approach  her  with  the 
the  felo nous  intent  of  getting  a kiss;  but  Hanna 
started  from  her  wheel  and  ran  out  of  the  house  to 
avoid  him. 

“Throth,  you’re  a madcap,  Hanna,”  exclaimed 
her  mother,  placidly — “ an’  antick  crather,  dear 
knows — her  heart’s  in  her  mouth  every  minute  of 
the  day;  an’  if  she  gets  through  the  world  wid  it 
always  as  light,  poor  girl,  it’ll  be  well  for  her.” 

“Kathleen,  will  you  get  me  a towel  or  praskeen 
of  some  sort  to  wipe  my  face  wid,”  said  her  father, 
looking  about  for  the  article  he  wanted. 

“I  left  one,”  she  replied,  “on  the  back  of  your 
chair — an’  there  it  is,  sure.” 

“Ay,  achora,  it’s  you  that  laveo  nothing  undone 
that  ought  to  be  done ; an’  so  it  is  here,  sure 
enough.” 

“ Why,  tiien,  Gerald,”  asked  Tom  M’Mahon,  “ in 
the  name  o’  wonder  what  makes  you  stick  to  the 
meal  instead  o’  the  soap  when  you’re  ^washin’  your- 
self?” 

“Throth  an’  I ever  will,  Tom,  an’  for  a good 
raison — bekaise  it’s  best  for  the  complexion.” 

The  unconscious  simplicity  with  which  Cavanagh 
uttered  this  occasioned  loud  latighter,  from  which 
Kathleen  herself  was  unable  to  refrain. 

“13y  the  piper,  Gerald,”  said  M'Mahon,  “that’s 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


95 


the  best  thing  I h’ard  this  month  o’  Sundays.  Why, 
it  would  be  enough  for  one  o’  your  daughters  to 
talk  about  complexion.  Maybe  you  paint  too — ha  ! 
La!  ha!” 

Hanna  now  put  in  her  head,  and  asked  “ what  is 
the  fun  ? ” but  immediately  added,  “ Kathleen,  here's 
a message  for  you.” 

“ For  me  ! ” .said  Kathleen  ; what  is  it  ? ” 

“Here's  Peety  Dhu’s  daughter,  an’  she  says  she 
has  something  to  say  to  you.” 

“ An’  so  Rosha  Burke,”  said  Mrs.  Cavanngh,  “ has 
taken  her  to  live  wid  them;  I hope  it’ll  turn  out 
well  for  the  poor  thing.” 

“ Will  you  come  out,  Kathleeen,”  said  Hanna, 
again  peeping  in;  “she  musn't  tell  it  to  any  one 
but  yourself.” 

“ If  she  doesn't  she  may  keep  it,  then,”  replied 
Kathleen.  “ Tell  her  I have  no  secrets,”  she  added, 
“nor  1 won’t  have  any  of  her  keeping.” 

“ You  must  go  in,”  said  Hanna,  turning  aside  and 
addressing  the  girl — “ you  must  go  in  an’  spake  to 
her  in  the  house.” 

“ She  can  tell  us  all  about  the  robbery,  anyway,” 
observed  Mr.  Cavanagh.  “Come  in,  a-colleen — 
what  are  you  afeard  of?” 

“ I have  a word  to  say  to  her,”  said  the  girl — “a 
message  to  deliver;  bub  it  must  be  to  nobody  but 
herself.  Whisper,”  she  proceeded,  approaching 
Kathleen,  and  about  to  address  her. 

Kathleen  immediately  rose,  and,  looking  on  the 
messenger,  said,  “ Who  is  it  from,  Nanny  ?” 


96 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA, 


“J  musn’t  let  them  know,”  replied  the  girl,  look- 
ing at  tlie  rest. 

Wliatever  it  is,  or  whoever  it's  fmrn,  you  must 
sjDake  it  out  then,  Nanny,”  continued  K ithleen. 

“ It’s  from  ilycy  Burke,  tlien,”  replied  the  girl ; 
‘‘  he  wants  to  know  if  you  have  any  answer  fur  him  ? ” 

“Tell  Ilycy  Burke,”  replied  Kathleen,  “that  I 
have  no  answer  for  hirii ; an’  that  I'll  thank  him  to 
send  me  no  more  messages.” 

“ Hut  tut ! you  foolish  girl,”  exclaimed  her  mother, 
rising  up  and  approaching  her  daughter;  “are  you 
mad,  Kathleen  ? ” 

“What’s  come  over  you,”  said  the  father,  equally 
alarmed;  “are  j^ou  beside  yourself,  sure  enough,  to 
snnd  Ilycy  Burke  sich  a message  as  that  ? Sit  down, 
ma  colleen^  sit  down,  an’ never  mind  her — don’t  tliink 
of  bringin’  liim  back  sich  a message.  AVhy,  then,” 
4ie  added,  “in  tiie  name  o’  inercyg  Kathleen,  what 
lias  come  over  you,  to  trate  a respectable  young  man 
like  Ilycy  Burke  in  that  style?” 

“Simply,  father,  because  I don’t  wish  to  receive 
any  messages  at  all  from  him.” 

“But  your  mother  au’  I is  of  a dilTerei^t  opinion, 
Kathleen.  TFe  wish  you  to  resave  messages  from 
him;  an’  you  know  yi)u’re  bound  both  by  the  liw-s 
of  God  an’  man  to  obey  us  an’  be  guided  by  ns.” 

“ I know  I am,  father,”  slie  replied  ; “an’  I hope 
I haven’t  been  an  undutiful  child  to  either  of  you 
for  so  far.” 

“Tliai’s  true,  Kathleen — God  sees  it’s  trutli  itself.” 

“ What  message  do  you  expect  to  bring  back, 
Nanny?”  said  the  mother,  addressing  the  girl. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


97 


“An  answer,”  replied  the  girl,  seeing  that  every- 
thing must  be  and  was  above  board — “ an  answer  to 
the  lettlier  he  sent  lier,” 

“Did  he  send  ynu  a letther?”  asked  her  fat  hex', 
seriously;  “ an’  you  never  b^t  us  know  a word  about 
it? — did  lie  send  you  a letther?” 

Kathleen  paused  a moment  and  seemed  to  consult 
Hanna’s  looks,  who  had  now  joined  tliem.  At  length 
she  replied,  slowly,  and  as  if  in  doubt  whether  she 
ought  to  speak  in  the  affirmative  or  not — “no,  he 
sent  me  no  letter.” 

“ Well  now,  take  care,  Kathleen,”  said  her  mother ; 
“ I seen  a letther  in  your  hands  this  very  mornin’.” 

Kathleen  blushed  deeply;  but  as  if  anxious  to 
give  the  conversation  another  turn,  and  so  to  relieve 
lierself,  she  replied,  “ I can’t  prevent  you,  mother,  or 
my  father  eitlier,  from  sending  back  whatever  answer 
you  wish  ; but  this  I say  that,  except  the  one  I gave 
already,  Hycy  Burke  will  never  receive  any  mes- 
sage or  any  answer  to  a message  from  me;  an’  now 
for  the  present  let  us  drop  it.” 

“Very  well,”  said  her  mother;  “in  the  mane 
time,  niy  good  girsha^  sit  down.  Is  it  thrue  that 
Jemmy  Burke’s  house  was  robbed  a couple  o’  nights 
ago  ? ” 

“ True  enough,”  said  the  girl. 

“And  how  much  did  he  lose  ? ” asked  M’Mahon  ; 
“for  there’s  disputes  about  it — some  say  more  and 
some  say  less.” 

“ Between  seventy  and  eighty  pounds,”  replied 
Nanny  ; “ the  masther  isn’t  sure  to  a pound  or  so; 
but  he  knows  it  was  near  eighty,  any  wav.” 

5 


98 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ That’s  just  like  him,”  said  Cavanagh  ; “ his  care- 
less way  of  managin’.  Many  a time  I wondiier  at 
liim ; — he  slobbers  everything  about  tliat  you’d 
think  he’d  beggar  himselt,  an’  yet  the  luck  ^and  pros- 
perity flows  to  him.  I declare  to  iny  goodness  I 
think  the  very  dirt  undher  his  feet  turns  to  money. 
Well,  girsha^  an’  have  they  any  suspicion  of  the 
robbers  ? ” 

“ Why,”  said  the  girl,  ‘‘  they  talk  about  ” — she 
paused,  and  it  was  quite  evident  from  her  manner 
that  she  felt  not  only  embarrassed  but  distressed  by 
the  quest  ion.  Indeed  this  was  no  matter  of  surprise  ; 
for  ever  since  the  subject  was  alluded  to,  Kate  Ho- 
gan’s black  piercing  eyes  had  not  once  been  re- 
moved from  heis,  nor  did  the  girl  utter  a single 
word  in  reply  to  the  questions  asked  of  her  without 
first,  as  it  were,  consulting  Kate’s  looks. 

A moment’s  reflection  made  Cavanagh  feel  that 
the  question  must  be  a painful  one  to  the  girl,  not 
only  on  her  own  account,  but  on  that  of  Kate  her- 
self; for  even  then  it  was  pretty  well  known  that 
l^urke’s  family  entertained  the  strongest  suspicion 
that  the  burglary  had  been  committed  by  these  no- 
torious vagabonds. 

“Well,  aAa^wr,”  said  Cavanagh,  “no  matter  now 
— it’s  all  over  unless  they  catch  the  robbers.  Come 
now,”  he  added,  addressing  M’Mahon  and  his  son, 
“ if  you’re  for  the  road  I’m  ready.” 

“Is  it  true,  Mrs.  Burke,”  asked  Bryan,  “that 
you’re  goin’  to  have  a Kemp  in  your  barn  some  o’ 
these  days  ?” 

“ True  enough,  indeed,”  replied  the  good  woman, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


99 


*‘an  that’s  tnio,  too,  tell  the  girls,  Bryan,  and  that 
they  nui-t  come.” 

“Not  I,”  said  llie  otlier  langliing : if  “ihe  girls 
here  wights  them  to  come,  k*t  them  go  up  and  a.'k 
them.” 

“ So  we  will,  then,”  replied  Hanna,  “an’  little  thanks 
to  you  for- your  civility.” 

“I  wisht  I knew  the  evenin’,”  said  Bryan,  “that 
I niiolit  be  at  Carriglass.” 

“When  will  we  go,  Kathleen,”  asked  her  sister, 
turning  slyly  to  her. 

“ Why  you're  sich  a light-brained  cracked  crea- 
ture,” replied  Kathleen,  “ that  I can’t  teil  whether 
you’re  joking  or  not.” 

“The  sorra  joke  I’m  jokin’,”  she  replied,  striving 
suildenly  to  form  her  features  into  a serious  expres- 
sion. “Well,  then,  I have  it,”  she  proceeded, 
“Some  Thursday ^ Bryan,  in  the  middle  o’ next  week 
— now  you  know  I’m  not  jokin’,  Kathleen.” 

“ Will  you  come,  Kathleen?”  inquired  Bryan. 

“Why,  if  Hanna  goes,  1 suppose  I must,”  she  re- 
plied, but  without  looking  up. 

“ Well  then  I’ll  liave  a sharp  look-out  on  Thurs- 
day.” 

“ Come  now,”  said  Gerald,  “ let  us  move.  Give 
the  girsha  something  to  ate  among  you,  f*)r  the 
cre  dit  of  the  house, before  she  goes  back,”  lie  added. 
“Paddy  Toole,  girth  that  horse  tighter,  I tell  you; 
I never  can  get  you  to  girth  him  as  he  ought  to  be 
girthed,” 

On  bidding  the  women  good-bye,  Bryan  looked 
towards  Kathleen  for  a moment,  and  her  eye  in  re- 


100 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 


turn  glanced  on  him  as  he  was  about  to  go.  But 
that  simple  glance,  iiow  significant  was  its  import, 
and  how  clearly  did  it  convey  the  whole  history 
of  as  pure  a heart  as  ever  beat  within  a female 
bosom ! 


THE  EMIGKANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


101 


CHAPTER  VI. 

rANNY  TEETY  LOOKS  MYSTERIOUS,  AND  HYCY  PROVES 
HIMSELF  A GOOD  JUDGE  OF  HORSE  FLESH. 

The  (lay  was  all  ligl»t,  and  life,  and  animation. 
The  crops  were  going  down  fast  in  every  direcl ion, 
and  the  lields  were  alive  and  cheerful  with  the  voice 
of  rnirlh  and  labor.  As  tliey  got  into  the  vicinity 
of  Wallace’s  house  they  overlook  or  were  overtaken 
by  several  of  their  neighbors,  among  whom  was  seen 
our  old  friend,  Jemmy,  or  as  his  acquaintances  gene- 
rally called  liim,  honest  Jemmy  Burke^  mounted 
upon  a brood  mare  with  a foal  at  her  heels,  all  his 
other  horses  having  been  engaged  in  the  labor  of 
the  season. 

After  having  sympathized  with  him  upon  the  loss 
he  had  sustained,  they  soon  allowed  the  subject  to 
drop;  for  it  was  quite  clear  from  the  expression  of 
care,  if  not  of  sorrow,  tliat  was  legible  in  his  face, 
that  the  very  mention  of  it  only  caused  him  to  feel 
adtlitional  anxiety. 

At  length  they  reached  Wallace’s  house,  where 
they  found  a tolerably  large  crowd  of  people  wait- 
ing for  the  auction,  w’hich  w^as  not  to  commence  un- 
til the  hour  of  one  o’clock. 

Sam  Wallace  was  a respectable  Protestant  farmer, 
who  finding,  as  he  said,  that  there  was  no  proper  en- 
couragement given  to  men  who  were  anxious  and 
disposed  to  improve  their  property,  had  deemed  it  a 


102 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


Miser  step  to  dispose  of  his  stock  and  furniture  than 
to  remain  as  he  was — not  merely  with  no  certain 
prospect  of  being  able  to  maintain  even  his  present 
position,  but  with  llie  chances  against  himot  becom- 
ing every  day  a poorer  and  more  embarrassed  man. 
His  brother  who  like  himself,  after  having  been  on  the 
decline  for  a considerable  period,  had  emigrated  to 
America,  wdiere  he  was  j)rospering,  now  urged  him 
to  follow  his  example,  and  leave  a country  in  which 
lie  said,  in  language  that  lias  become  a |>roverb, 
everything  was  going  to  the  bad.”  Feeling  that 
his  brother’s  words  w^ere  unfortunately  too  true, 
Wallace  at  all  events,  came  to  the  determination  of 
following  his  example. 

The  scene  at  wliich  our  friends  arrived  was  indeed 
a striking  and  impressive  one.  The  majority  of  the 
crow’d  consisted  of  those  who  belonged  eitlier  to  the 
Protestant  or  Presbyterian  forms  of  w'orship ; and  it 
raiiiht  be  with  truth  asserted,  that  nothing  could 
surpass  the  clear  unquestionable  character  of  inde- 
pendent intelligence  which  prevailed  among  them. 
Along  with  this,  however,  there  was  an  obvious 
spirit  of  dissatisfaction,  partial,  it  is  true,  as  to  num- 
bers, but  yet  sufficiently  marked  as  to  satisfy  an 
observer  that  such  a people,  if  united  upon  any  par- 
ticular subject  or  occasion,  w^ere  not  for  a moment  to 
be  trifled  with  or  cajoled.  Their  feelings  upon  the 
day  in  question  were  stirred  into  more  than  usual 
w^armth.  A fdend,  a neighbor,  a man  of  an  old  and 
respectable  family,  frugal,  industrious,  and  loyal,  as 
they  said,  both  to  king  and  country,  w^as  now  forced 
from  w^ant  of  due  encouragement  from  his  landlord, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


103 


to  disturb  all  his  old  associations  of  friendsldp  and 
kindred,  and  at  rath’er  an  advanced  slate  of  life  to 
encounter  the  perils  of  a long  voyage,  and  subject 
himself  and  his  family  to  the  changes  arid  chances 
which  he  must  encounter  in  a new  world,  and  in  a 
dilFerent  slate  of  society.  Indeed,  the  feeling  wljieh 
prompted  the  expression  of  these  sentiments  might 
be  easily  gathered  from  the  character  that  perva^  d 
the  crowd.  Not  to  such  an  extent,  however,  with 
respect  to  Wallace  liimself  or  any  portion  of  his 
family.  There  might  be  observed  upon  him  ami 
them  a quiet  but  resolute  spirit,  firm,  collected,  and 
cheerful ; but  still  while  there  were  visible  no  traces 
of  dejection  or  grief,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that 
under  this  decent  comj)osure  there  existed  a calm 
consciousness  of  strong  stern  feeling,  whose  dignity, 
if  not  so  touching,  was  quite  as  impressive  as  the 
exhibition  of  louder  and  more  clamorous  grief. 

“ Bryan,”  said  M’MhIioii  to  his  son,  as  the  auction 
w^as  proceeding,  ‘‘I’ll  slip  up  to  the  agent’s,  and  do 
you  see  if  them  sheep  goes  for  a fair  value — if  they 
do,  give  a bid  or  two,  any  how.  I’m  speak  in’  of 
that  lot  we  wor  b okin’  at,  next  the  wall  there.” 

“I’ll  pay  attention  to  it,”  said  Bryan;  “I  know 
you’ll  find  the  agent  at  home  now,  for  I seen  him 
goin’  in  a wdiile  ago  ; so  hurry  up,  an’  ax  him  if  he 
can  soy  homsoon  we  may  expect  the  leases.” 

“Never  fear,  I will.” 

On  entering  lAthertonge’s  Hail,  M’Mahon  was 
treated  with  very  marked  respect  by  the  servant, 
wiio  told  iiim  to  walk  into  the  parlor,  and  he  w^ould 
let  his  master  know. 


104 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ He  entertains  a liigh  opinion  of  you,  Mister 
M’Mahon,”  said  be;  “and  1 beard  bim  speak 
strongly  about  you  the  other  day  to  some  gentlemen 
that  dined  with  us— friends  of  the  landlord’s.  Walk 
into  the  pailorV” 

In  a few  minutes  M’Mahon  was  sliown  into  Fetlier- 
tonge’s  office,  the  walls  of  which  were,  to  a consider- 
able height,  lined  with  tin  boxes,  labelled  with  the 
names  of  those  whose  title-deeds  and  other  valuable 
papers  they  contained, 

Fethertonge  was  a tall,  pale,  placid  looking  man, 
with  rather  a benevolent  cast  of  countenance,  and 
eyes  that  were  mild,  but  very  small  in  proportion  to 
the  other  features  of  his  face.  Ilis  voice  was  exceed- 
ingly low,  and  still  more  musical  and  sweet  than 
low;  in  fact  it  was  such  a voice  as,  one  would 
imagine,  ou^ht  to  have  seldom  been  otherwise  em- 
ployed  than  in  breathing  hope  and  consolation  to 
despairing  sinners  on  their  bed  of  death.  Yet  he 
had  nothing  of  either  the  parson  or  the  preacher  in 
his  appearance.  So  far  from  that  he  was  seldom 
known  to  wear  a black  coat,  unless  when  dressed 
for  dinner,  and  not  very  frequently  even  then,  for 
he  mostly  wore  blue. 

“ M’Mahon,”  said  he,  “ take  a seat.  I am  glad  to 
see  you.  How  are  your  family  ? ” 

“ Both  I an’  they  is  well,  I’m  thankful  to  you,  sir,” 
replied  the  farmer. 

“I  hope  you  got  safe  home  from  the  metropolis. 
How  did  you  travel?” 

“ Troth,  I walked  it,  sir,  every  inch  of  the  way. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


105 


an’  a long  stretch  it  is.  I got  sale,  sir,  an’  many 
tlianks  to  you.” 

“That  was  a sudden  call  poor  INIr.  Clievydale  got, 
but  not  more  so  than  might,  at  his  time  of  life, 
liave  been  expected  ; at  all  events  I liope  he  was 
prepared  for  it,  and  indeed  I have  reason  to  think  he 
was.” 

“I  trust  in  God  he  was  sir,”  replied  M’Mahon  ; 
“ so  fjir  as  I and  mine  is  consarned,  we  liave  raison 
to  wish  it;  he  didn’t  forget  us,  Mr.  Fethertonge.” 

“No,”  said  the  other,  after  some  pause,  “he  did 
not  indeed  forget  you,  M’AIahon.” 

“ I tuck  the  liberty  of  callin’  down,  sir,”  pro- 
ceeded M’Mahon,  “about  the  leases  he  spoke  of, 
an’  to  know  how  soon  we  may  expect  to  have  them 
filled.” 

“That  is  for  your  son  Bryan,  and  yourself.  IIow 
is  Bryan  proceeding  with  Ahadarra,  by  the  way  ? I 
8]»oke  to  him  some  time  ago  about  his  system  of 
cropping  that  farm,  atid  some  other  matters  of  the 
kind;  I must  ride  up  one  of  these  days  to  see  how 
he  is  doing.  As  to  the  leases  there  is  no  difficulty  in 
the  way,  M’Mahon,  except  to  get  our  young  land- 
lord to  sign  them.  That  we  will  easily  do,  of  course  ; 
in  the  meantime  do  you  go  on,  improve  your  land, 
and  strive  to  do  something  for  your  children,  M’- 
Mahon; for,  in  this  world,  he  that  won’t  assist  him- 
self will  find  very  few  tliat  will.  The  leases 
are  in  Dublin  ; if  you  wish  Til  send  for  them,  and 
have  tlujm  ready  for  the  landlord’s  signature  when- 
ever he  comes  down  here;  or  I’ll  leave  them  in  town 
where  I shall  be  more  likely  to  see  him.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


106 


Very  well,  sir,”  replied  M’Mahon,  “I  lave  it  all 
in  your  own  liands,  for  I know  that  if  you  won’t  be 
my  friend,  you  won’t  be  my  enemy.” 

“Well — certainly — I hope  not.  Will  you  take 
anything?  Here,  James,  bring  in  some  brandy.” 

M’Mahon’s  protest  against  the  brandy  was  any- 
thing but  invincihle.  Feihertonge’s  manner  was  so 
kind,  so  familiar,  and  his  interest  in  the  success  of 
himself  and  his  family  so  unaffectedly  warm  and 
sincere,  that,  after  drinking  his  healih,  he  took  his 
leave  with  a light  and  happy  heart. 

Their  journeys  home  was  a little  more  lively  than 
the  depression  of  Jemmy  Burke's  mind  liad  allowed 
it  to  be  on  their  way  to  the  auction.  Yet  each  had 
bis  own  peculiar  feelings,  independently  of  those 
which  were  (dicited  by  the  conversation.  Jemmy 
Burke,  who  had  tasted  some  of  Wallace’s  liquor,  as 
indeed  with  the  exception  of  Bryan  they  all  did, 
W'as  consequently  in  a better  and  more  loquacious 
Itumor  than  he  bad  been  during  the  day.  On  this 
occasion  his  usual  good  fortune  attended  him  ; for  it 
M as  the  opinion  of  every  one  there,  that  he  had  got 
the  best  bargain  disposed  of  during  the  day — a lot 
of  twenty-five  wethers  in  prime  condition.  Gerald 
Cavanagh,  who  had  also  tasted  the  poteen,  stuck  as 
closely  as  possible  to  his  skirts,  moved  thereto  by  a 
principle  of  adhesion,  with  wdiich  our  readers  are 
already  acquainted  ; and  Bryan,  who  saw  and  un- 
derstood his  motives,  felt  by  no  means  comfortable 
at  w^itnessing  such  strong  symptoms  of  excessive 
attachment.  Old  M’Mahon  did  not  speak  much,  for 
in  truth,  he  could  not  overcome  the  depressing  ef- 


107 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


fects  of  tlio  scene  lie  had  witnessed,  nor  of  tlic  words 
uttered  by  Wallace,  as  they  bade  eaefe  other  farewell. 

Burke,  however,  and  his  companion  Cavanagli 
looked  like  men  between  whom  a warm  friendship 
was  about  to  grovv  up.  Wlienever  tliey  came  to  a 
public-house  or  a shebeen,  tliey  either  dismounted 
ami  had  a cordial  drop  together,  or  took  it  in  the 
saddle  after  touching  each  other's  glasses  in  token 
of  love  and  amity.  It  is  true  some  slight  interrup- 
tion occurred,  that  disturbed  the  growing  confirlence 
and  familiarity  of  their  dialogue,  which  interruption 
consisted  in  the  endh'ss  Avhinnying  of  the  nuare 
whenever  her  foal  delayed  a moment  behind  her, 
or  in  the  sudden  and  abrupt  manner  in  which  she 
wdieeled  about  with  a strong  disposition  to  return 
and  look  for  it. 

On  the  discovery  of  Burke’s  robbery  an  investi- 
gation was  set  on  foot,  but  with  no  prospect  of  suc- 
cess, and  without  in  any  way  inv(dving  the  Hogans, 
who  were  8tr()ngly  suspected.  It  was  clearly  prov- 
ed that  Philip  and  one  of  his  brothers  slept  in  their 
usual  residence — Cavansgh's  corn-kiln — on  that 
night,  but  it  was  admitted  tliat  Bait  Hogan  and  his 
wile  Kate  were  both  abroad  the  greater  portion  of 
it.  On  them  suspicion  might,  indeed,  very  natu- 
rally have  rested,  were  it  not  for  the  evidence  of 
Hycy  himself,  who  at  once  admitted  that  he  could 
exonerate  them  from  any  suspicion,  as  he  knew  both 
how  and  where  tliey  had  passed  the  night  in  question. 
So  far,  therefore,  V e Hog  ins^ dishonest  as  tli(*y  were 
unquestionably  reputed  to  be,  now  stood  perfectly 
exonerated  from  all  suspicion. 


108 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


The  lapse  of  a very  few  days  generally  cools  down 
the  ferment  occasioned  by  maiters  tiiis  kind,  espe- 
cially when  public  cm iosity  found  to  be  at  fault  in 
developing  the  whole  train  of  circumstances  connect- 
ed with  them.  All  the  in-door  servants,  it  is  true,  were 
rigorously  examined,  yet  it  somehow  liaj>p(‘ned  that 
Ilycy  could  not  divest  himself  of  a suspicion  that 
Nanny  Peety  was  in  some  way  pavy  to  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  money.  In  about  three  or  four 
days  he  happened  to  see  her  thrust  sornetliing  into 
her  father’s  bag,  which  he  carried  as  a mendicant, 
and  he  could  not  avoid  remarking  that  there  was  in 
her  whole  manner,  which  was  furtive  and  hurried,  an 
obvious  consciousness  of  something  that  was  not 
right.  He  resolved,  however,  to  follow  up  the  im- 
pression which  he  felt, and  accordingly  in  a few- min- 
utes after  her  father  had  taken  his  departure,  he 
brought  lier  aside,  and  without  giving  lier  a mo- 
ment to  concoct  a reply,  he  asked  what  it  w^as  that 
lie  saw  her  thrusting  in  such  a hurried  manner  into 
his  bag.  She  reddened  like  scarlet,  and,  after  paus- 
ing a moment,  replied,  “Nothing,  sir,  but  an  ould 
pair  of  shoes.” 

“ Was  that  all  ? ” he  asked. 

“That  w^as  all,  sir,”  she  replied. 

The  blush  and  liesitation,  how^ever,  with  which 
she  answered  him,  were  far  from  satisfactory  ; and 
without  more  ado,  he  w^alked  briskly  down  the 
avenue,  and  overtook  her  father  near  the  gate  at  its 
entrance. 

“Peety,”  said  he,  “ what  was  that  your  daughter 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


109 


Nanny  put  into  your  bag  a while  ago?  I wish  to 
know.” 

“Deed  an’  it’s  scarcely  worth  your  while.  Mister 
Ilycy,”  replied  the  mendicant;  “ but  since  }OuM  like 
to  know,  it  was  a pair  ol'  ould  brogues,  and  here 
they  are,”  he  added,  “if  you  wish  to  see  them.” 

lie  laid  down  the  big  as  he  spoke,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  pull  them  out,  when  Hycy,  who  felt  angry 
with  himself  as  well  as  ashamed  at  being  detected 
ill  such  a beggarly  and  unbecoming  act  of  espion- 
age^ turned  instantly  back,  after  having  vented  sev- 
eral hearty  curses  upon  the  unfortunate  mendicant 
and  his  bags. 

As  he  approached  the  hall-door,  however,  he  met 
Nanny  crossing  into  the  kitchen-yard,  and  from  the 
timid  and  hesitating  glance  she  cast  at  him,  some 
vague  suspicion  again  occurred,  and  he  resolved  to 
enter  into  farther  conversation  with  her.  It  struck 
him  that  she  had  been  watching  his  interview  with 
l»er  father,  and  could  not  avoid  yielding  to  the 
impression  which  had  returned  so  strongly  upon 
him. 

“ I saw  your  father,  Nanny,”  he  said,  in  as  signfi- 
cant  and  dry  a tone  as  possible. 

“Did  you,  sir?”  said  she;  and  he  remarked  that 
while  uttering  the  words,  slie  again  colored  deeply 
and  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

“Yes,”  he  replied;  “but  he  did  not  boar  out 
what  you  said — he  had  no  pair  of  shoos  in  his  bag.” 

“ Did  you  see  what  he  had  in  it.  Master  Hycy?  ” 

“Why,”  said  he,  “a — hem — a — a— I didn't  look 
— but  ril  tell  you  what,  Nanny,  I think  you  look  as 


no 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


if  you  were  in  possession  of  some  secret.  I say  so, 
and  don’t  imagine  you  can  fv^r  a moment  impose 
upon  me.  I know  what  your  father  liad  in  his  bag.” 

“Well  then,  if  you  do,  sir,”  she  replied,  “ you 
.know  the  saycrit.” 

“ So  there  is  a secret,  then.” 

“So  you  say,  JMasther  Ifycy.” 

“Nanny,”  he  proceeded,  “it  occurs  to  me  now 
that  you  never  underwent  a formal  examination 
about  this  robbery  that  took  place  in  our  house.” 

“Tliat  wasn’t  my  l;ault,’’  she  replied;  “I  mostly 
happened  to  be  out.” 

“ Well,  but  do  you  know  anything  about  it?” 

“ Not  a thing — no  more  than  yourself,  Mr. 
Hycy.” 

Her  interrogater  turned  upon  her  a hard  scruti- 
nizing glance,  in  wliich  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she 
n ad  a spirit  of  strong  and  dissatisfied  suspicion. 
She  was  evidently  conscious  of  thi.s;  for  as  llycy 
stood  gazing  upon  her,  she  reddened,  and  betrayed 
unequivocal  symptoms  of  confusion. 

“ Because,  Nanny,”  lie  proceeded,  “If  you  knew 
any  tiling  about  it,  and  didn’t  mention  it  at  once  to 
the  family,  you  wotihl  be  considered  as  one  of  the 
robbers.” 

“An’  wouldn’t  I be  nearly  as  bad  if  I didn’t?” 
she  replied;  “ surely  the  first  thing  I’d  do  would  be 
to  tell.” 

“It’s  very  strange,”  observed  Ilycy,  “ that  such  a 
robbery  could  be  committed  in  a house  where  there 
are  so  many  servants,  without  any  clue  whatsoever 
to  a discovery.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Ill 


Well,  I don’t  agree  with  you  tltere,  Mr.  Hycy — 
if  wlial  your  father  and  mother  an’  all  o’  thnn  say 
is  t?ue — that  it  wasn’t  often  the  hall-door  was  boiled 
at  night;  and  that  they  can’t  say  whether  it  was 
fastened  on  Vtat  night  or  not.  Sure  if  it  wasn’t, 
there  was  nothing  to  prevent  any  one  from  cornin’ 
in.” 

‘•Very  true,  Xanny,”  he  replied,  “very  true;  and 
we  have  paid  severely  for  our  negligence.” 

Tliis  closed  the  conversation,  but  Ilycy  felt  that, 
proceed  from  whatever  source  it  might,  it  was  irn- 
}>ossible  to  dismiss  certain  vague  suspicions  as  con- 
nected with  the  mendicant’s  daughter.  He  deter- 
mined, however,  to  watcli  her  narrowly  ; and  some- 
how he  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  imj)ression 
that  she  saw  through  his  design.  This  incident 
occurred  a few  days  after  the  robbery. 

Jemmy  Bmke,  though  in  many  respects  a man  of 
easy  and  indolent  cliaracter,  was  nevertheless  a per- 
son wlio,  as  is  lamiliarly  said,  “always  kept  an  eye 
to  llie  mai»i  chance.”  lie  was  by  no  means  over- 
tidy either  in  his  dress  or  farming;  but  it  mattered 
little  in  wliat  light  you  contemplated  him,  you  were 
al  ways  certaiti  to  find  him  a man  not  alFecled  by 
trifles,  nor  rigidly  systematic  in  anything;  but  at 
the  same  time  you  could  not  help  observing  tliat  he 
was  a man  of  strong  points,  whose  life  was  marked 
by  a course  of  high  prosperity,  that  seemed  to  flow 
in  upon  him,  as  it  were,  by  some  peculiar  run  of 
good  fortu!5e.  Tiiis  luck,  however,  was  little  less 
than  the  natural  result  of  shrewd  mother-wit,  hap- 
pily applied  to  the  ordinary  transactions  of  life,  and 


112 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


assuming  tlie  appearance  of  good  fortune  rather  than 
of  sound  judgment,  in  consequence  of  the  simplicity 
of  character  under  which  it  acted. 

Ever  since  the  night  of  the  robbery,  lie  had  de- 
voted himself  more  to  the  pipe  tlian  he  liad  ever  been 
known  to  do  before ; he  spoke  little,  too ; but  what 
he  did  say  was  ironical,  though  not  by  any  means 
without  a tinge  of  quiet  but  caustic  humor. 

Hycy,  on  entering  the  parlor,  fourjd  him  seated  in 
an  arm-chair,  smoking  as  usual,  wliilst  his  mother, 
wdio  soon  came  down  stairs,  appeared  dressed  in 
more  than  her  usual  finery. 

“What  keeps  Patsy  Dolan  wid  the  car?”  she 
inquired,  “ Hycy,  do  you  see  any  appearance  of 
him  ? ” 

“No,  ma’am,”  replied  the  son;  “ I didn't  know 
you  wanted  him.” 

Jemmy  looked  at  lier  with  a good  deal  of  sur- 
prise, and,  after  whiffing  aw^ay  the  smoke,  a^ked — 
“And  well,  Rosha — begs  pardon — Mrs.  Burke — is 
it  a fair  question  to  ax  where  you  are  bound  for?” 

“ Fair  enough,  Mr.  Burke,”  she  replied ; “ but  I'm 
not  goin’  to  answ’er  it.” 

“ You’re  bound  for  a journey,  ma’am,  I think  ? ” 

“Pm  bound  for  a journey,  sir.” 

“ Is  it  a lo7ig  journey,  Mrs.  Burke  ? ” 

“ No,  indeed  ; it’s  a short  journey.  Mister  Burke.” 

“ Ah ! ” replied  her  husband,  utteiing  a very  sig- 
nificant groan  ; “ Pm  afraid  it  is.” 

“Why  do  you  groan,  Mr.  Burke?” 

“Oh  it  doesn’t  signify,”  he  replied,  drily;  “it’s 
no  novelty,  I believe,  to  hear  a man — a married  man 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


113 


— groan  in  tliis  world;  only  if  you  wor  for  a long 
journey,  I'd  be  glad  lo  give  you  every  astei»tance  in 
my  pf)wer.” 

“You  hear  that^  Hycy ; there's  affiClion?”  she 
excdainied — “ wishiii’  me  lo  go  my  long  journey 

“ AYould  you  marry  again,  Mr.  Burke  ?”  asked 
the  worthy  son. 

“ I think  not,”  replied  Jemmy.  “There’s  ginlle- 
men  enough  o’  the  name — I’m  afraid  one  too  many.” 

“ Well,  ’ exclaimed  Ins  wife,  assuming  something 
as  near  to  her  conception  of  the  look  of  a martyr  as 
possible,  “ /’m  sulFeriu’ at  all  events;  but  I know 
my  crown’s  before  me.” 

“ Sich  as  It  is,’’  replied  her  husband,  “I  dare  say 
it  is.” 

“ ril  not  be  back  for  a few  hours,  Tlycy ; an’ — but 
here’s  the  cir.  Come  fardher  up,  Patsy.” 

Hycy  politely  handed  his  mother  out,  and  assist- 
ed her  on  the  car.  “Of  course,  he’ll  discover  it  all,” 
said  he,  laughing. 

“I  know  he  will,”  she  replied;  “but  when  it’s 
over,  it’s  over,  and  that’s  all.” 

Jemmy  now  met  his  son  at  the  hall  door,  and 
asked  him  if  he  knew  where  his  mother  had 
gone. 

“ I really  cannot  undertake  to  say,”  replied  the 
other.  “Mrs.  Burke,  father,  is  a competent  judge 
of  her  own  motions;  but  I presume  to  think  that  she 
may  take  a drive  upon  her  own  car,  without  being 
so  seveivly,  if  not  ungenerously  catechised  about  it. 
I presume  to  think  so,  sir;  but  I dare  say  I am 
wrong,  and  that  even  that  is  a crime  on  my  part.” 


114 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


His  father  made  no  reply,  hut  proceed* *d  at  an 
easy  and  thoughtful  pace  to  join  his  men  in  the  field 
where  they  were  at  labor. 

Ilycy,  after  his  mothtr’s  return  that  evening, 
seemed  rather  in  low  spirits,  if  one  couM  form  any 
correct  estimate  of  his  character  by  appearances. 
He  w^as  very  silent,  and  somewhat  less  given  to 
those  broken  snatches  of  melody  tlian  w^as  his 
wont;  and  yet  a close  observer  might  have  read  in 
his  doptirtrnent,  and  especially  in  the  peculiar  ex- 
jDression  of  his  eye,  that  which  seemed  to  indicate 
anything  rather  than  depression  or  gloom.  His 
silence,  to  sucli  an  observer,  might  have  appeared 
rather  the  silence  of  satisfaction  and  triumph,  than 
of  disappointment  or  vexation. 

Ilis  father,  indeed,  saw  little  of  liim  that  night,  in 
consequence  of  the  honest  man  having  preferred  the 
liob  of  his  wealtliy  and  spacious  kitchen  to  the  soci- 
ety of  his  wife  and  son  in  the  parlor.  The  next 
morning,  however,  they  met  at  breakfast,  as  usual, 
when  Ilycy,  after  some  ironical  compliments  to  his 
fatlier’s  good  taste,  asked  him,  “ if  he  would  do  iiini 
the  favor  to  step  towards  the  stable  and  see  his 
purchase.” 

‘‘You  don’t  mane  Crazy  Jane?”  said  the  other, 
coolly. 

‘*  I d<>,”  replied  Hvcy  ; “ and  as  I set  a high  value 
on  your  opiidon,  perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough 
to  s «y  whaf.  you  ihiidc  (d’  her.” 

Now,  Hvcy  never  lor  a moment  dreamt  that  his 
fatlier  would  have  taken  him  at  liis  word,  and  we 
need  hardly  say  that  he  was  a good  deal  discon- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


115 


certed  at  the  cool  manner  in  which  tlie  other  ex- 
pressed Ills  readiness  to  do  so. 

“ Well,  Mr:  Bnrke,”  he  proceeded,  when  tl>ey  had 
reached  the  stable,  “ there  she  is.  Pray  what  do 
you  think  of  her?  ” 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  from  various  points, 
passed  his  hand  down  her  limbs,  clapped  her  on  the 
back,  felt  her  in  different  place-,  then  looked  at  her 
again.  ‘‘She’s  a beauty,”  said  he,  “a  born  beauty 
like  Billy  Neelins’s  foal:  what’s  this  you  say  you 
paid  for  her?” 

“Thirty-five  pounds.” 

“ Tare-an-ounty,  IIyc\%  she’s  dog  chape — thirty- 
five! — why  she’s  vabie  for  double  tiie  sum.” 

“ Nearly,”  replied  Ilycy,  quite  elevated  and  get- 
ting into  good  humor  ; “ is  she  not  really  now,  fatlier, 
a precious  bit  of  flesh  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! you  may  swear  that,  Tlycy ; I tell  you  you 
won’t  act  the  lionest  man,  if  you  don’t  give  liim 
fifteen  or  twenty  pounds  over  an’  above  what  you 
))aid  him.  Tom  Burton  I see’s  too  simple  for  you. 
Go  and  do  what  I bid  you  ; don’t  defraud  the  poor 
man ; you  have  got  a treasure,  I tell  you — a beauty 
bright — an  extraordinary  baste — a woriderful  ani- 
mal-oh,  dear  me ! what  a trreat  puiciiase!  Good- 
bye,  II  ycy.  Bless  my  sowl!  what  a judge  of  horse- 
fiesh  you  are  !” 

llaving  uttered  these  words  in  a tone  of  grave 
and  caustic  iroi«y,  lie  left  his  worthy  son  in  a stale 
of  chagrin  almost  bordering  on  resentment,  at  tlie 
strong  contempt  for  crazy  Jane,  implied  by  the  ex- 
cessive eulogium  he  had  passed  upon  lier.  This 


116 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


feeling*,  however,  was  on  reflection  considerably 
checked  by  his  satisfaction  on  finding  that  the 
matter  was  taken  by  his  father  so  coolly.  He  had 
calculated  on  receiving  a very  stormy  lecture  from 
liim  the  moment  he  should  become  aware  of  Ids 
having  the  animal  in  his  possession  ; and  he 
now  felt  ratiier  relieved  that  he  should  have  escaped 
so  easily.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Ilycy  was  now  in  ex- 
cellent spirits.  Not  only  liad  Crazy  Jane  been 
seemed,  but  there  were  strong  symptoms  of  liis 
being  in  cash.  In  a few  days  after  the  incident  of 
the  stable,  he  contrived  to  see  Philip  Ilogan,  with 
whom  lie  appointed  a final  meeting  in  Cavanagh’s 
kiln  on  the  night  of  the  Kemp : at  which  meeting, 
Teddy  Pliats  and  the  other  two  Hogans  were  also 
to  be  present,  in  order  to  determine  upon  the  ste[)S 
which  he  ultimately  proposed  to  take,  with  a view 
to  work  out  his  purposes,  whatever  those  purposes 
may  have  been. 


117 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAREA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  spinsters’  KEMP. 

A KEMP,  or  camp,  is  a contest  of  industrial  skill, 
or  a compel ilion  for  priority  in  a display  of  rustic 
labor.  Among  men  it  is  principally  resorted  to  in 
])laniing  ])otaioe8  or  reaping  of  corn,  and  generally 
only  on  tlie  day  wliich  closes  the  labor  at  each  for 
the  season;  but  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  most 
usually  practised  and  contested,  it  means  a trial  of 
female  skill  at  the  s|)iniiing  of  linen  yarn.  It  is, 
indeed,  a very  cheerful  assemblage  of  the  fair  sex  ; 
and,  although  strong  and  desperate  rivalry  is  the 
ordiT  of  the  day,  yet  it  is  conducted  in  a spirit  so 
light-hearted  and  amicable  that  we  scarcely  know  a 
more  laudable  or  delightful  recreation  in  country 
life.  Its  object  is  always  good,  and  its  associations 
praiseworthy,  inasmuch  as  they  promote  industry,  a 
spiiit  of  becoming  emulation,  and  principles  of  good 
w ill  and  kindness  to  our  neighbor. 

When  a kemp  is  about  to  be  held,  the  matter 
soon  becomes  generally  known  in  the  neighborhood. 
Sometimes  the  young  w'^omen  are  asked,  but  in  most 
instances,  so  eager  are  they  to  attend  it  that  invita- 
tions are  unnecessary.  In  the  wdnter  months,  and 
in  mountain  districts,  it  is  often  as  picturesque  as 
it  is  pleasaiit.  Tne  young  women  usually  begin  to 
assemble  about  four  o’clock  in  the  morning;  and, 
as  they  always  go  in  groups,  accompanied  besides 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


118 


by  their  sweethearts  or  some  male  relatives,  each  of 
the  latter  beaiing  a large  torch  o(  \vA\  dried  b<>g- 
fir,  their  voices,  and  songs,  and  loud  langliier,  brt  ak 
upon  the  stillness  of  night  with  a lioliday  feeling, 
made  ten  times  more  delightful  by  the  surrounding 
darkness  and  the  hour.  W hen  they  have  not  the  torch- 
es the  spinning-wheels  are  carried  by  the  males,  amidst 
an  agreeable  din  of  fun,  banter,  repartee,  and  jest, 
such  as  scarcely  any  other  rustic  amusement  with 
which  we  are  acquainted  ever  occasii>ns.  On  arriv- 
ing at  tlie  house  where  the  kemp  is  to  be  held,  they 
are  placed  in  the  barn  or  some  clean  outhouse;  but 
indeed  the  numbers  are  usually  such  as  to  crowd 
every  available  sp  ice  that  can  be  procured  for  their 
accommodation.  From  the  moment  they  arrive  the 
lively  din  is  incessant.  Nothingis  heard  but  laugh- 
ter, conversation,  songs,  and  anecdotes,  all  rising  in 
a loud  key,  among  the  louder  humming  of  the  spin- 
ning-wheels and  the  striduous  noise  of  the  reeds,  as 
they  incessantly  crack  the  cuts  in  the  hands  of  the 
reelers,  who  are  perpetually  turning  them  from 
morning  till  night,  iti  older  to  ascertain  the  quantity 
which  every  competitor  has  spun ; and  she,  of 
course,  who  has  spun  most  wins  the  kemp,  and  is 
the  queen  for  the  night. 

A kemp  invariably  closes  with  a dance — and  a 
dance  too  upon  an  unusually  extensive  scale.  In- 
deed, during  the  whole  day  the  fair  competitors  are 
regaled  from  time  to  time  with  the  enlivening  strains 
of  the  fiddle  or  bagpipes,  and  very  often  with  the 
united  melody  of  both  together. 

On  that  morning  the  dwelling-house  and  mostly 


THE  nyUGRA^TP  OF  AHAPAKRA. 


119 


all  the  out-offic<eR  of  (rerald  Cavanagh  bore,  in  stir 
and  bustle,  a stronger  resemblance  to  the  activity 
of  so  many  bee-hives  about  to  swarm  than  to  any- 
thing else  to  which  we  can  think  of  comparing 
them.  Jlirth  in  all  its  shapes,  of  laughter,  glee, 
a«d  song,  rang  out  in  every  direction.  The  boom- 
ing of  wheels  and  tlie  creaking  of  reels,  the  loud 
banter,  the  peals  of  laughter,  the  sweet  Irish  songs 
that  filled  up  the  pauses  of  the  louder  mirth,  and 
tlie  strains  of  the  fiddle  that  ever  and  anon  added 
to  the  enlivening  spirit  of  the  scene,  all  constituted 
such  a full  and  general  chorus  of  hilarity  as  could 
seldom  be  witnessed. 

There  were  many  girls  present  who  took  no  part 
in  the  competition,  but  who,  as  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances of  Kathleen  and  Hanna,  came  to  enjoy  the 
festive  spirit  of  the  day.  Hanna  herself,  however, 
who  had  earned  some  celebrity  as  a spinster, started 
for  the  lionor  of  winning,  as  did  Dora  M'Mahon, 
whose  small  and  beautiful  fingers  seemed  admirably 
adapted  for  this  graceful  and  peculiarly  feminine 
process  of  Minerva.  Towards  evening  the  neigh- 
bors assembled  in  considerable  numbers,  each  inter- 
ested- in  the  success  of  some  peculiar  favorite,  whose 
former  feats  had  induced  lier  friends  to  entertain  on 
lier  behalf  strong,  if  not  certain,  hopes  of  victory. 
Kathleen,  from  a principle  of  gerjerosity,  patronized 
her  young  friend,  Dora  M’Mahon;  and  Shibby  M’- 
Mahon,  on  the  other  hand,  took  Hanna  Cavanagh 
under  her  protection.  As  the  evening  advanced, 
and  the  spectators  and  friends  of  the  parlies  began 
to  call,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  moment  of  vie- 


120 


THJi  EMIUKAMS  0±  AiiAJL^Axir^, 


tory,  it  would  he  aimciili  to  witness  any  assembiago 
of  young  women  placed  under  circumstances  of  sucli 
striking  interest.  The  mirth  and  song  and  general 
murmur  diminished  by  degrees,  until  they  altogether 
ceased,  and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  perpet- 
ual cracking  of  the  reels,  the  hum  of  the  rapijl 
wheels,  and  the  voices  of  the  reelers,  as  they  pro- 
claimed the  slate  of  this  enlivening  pool  of  industry. 
As  for  the  fair  competitors  themselves,  it  might 
li.ive  been  observed  lhat  even  those  among  them 
who  had  no,  or  at  least  but  sliglit,  pretensions  to 
beauty,  became  actually  interesting  from  the  excite- 
ment which  prevailed.  Their  eyes  lit  by  the  active 
sjjirit  of  rivalry  witiiin  them,  sparkled  with  peculiar 
brilliancy,  their  cheeks  became  flushed  or  got  j>ale 
as  they  lelt  themselves  elevated  or  depressed  by  ihe 
prospect  or  loss  of  victory.  Nor  were  there  want- 
ing on  this  occasion  some  vivid  glances,  that  were 
burthened,  as  they  passed  aslant  their  lair  faces, 
wiih  piihier  feelings  tli.ai  those  that  originated 
from  a simple  de>ire  of  victory.  If  truth  must  be 
told,  baleful  flashes,  unmeasured  both  in  number 
and  expression,  were  exchanged  in  a spirit  of  true 
detiance  between  tlie  interested  and  contending 
parties,  as  the  close  of  the  contest  approached.  At 
length,  by  the  proclamation  of  the  reelers,  tl»e  great 
body  of  the  competitors  were  thrown  out,  and  they 
consequently  gave  up  the  contest.  It  was  now  six 
o’clock,  and  the  first  sound  of  seven  o’clock  hy  Cap- 
tain Millar’s  b(*ll  was  to  close  the  proceedings,  and 
enable  the  reelers  to  proclaim  tlie  victor.  Only  four 
names  now  remained  to  battle  it  out  to  the  last ; to 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


121 


wit,  a country  farmer’s  daughter,  named  Betty  Ai- 
kins,  Dora  M’Mahon,  Hanna  Cavanagh,  and  a ser- 
vant girl  belonging  to  another  neighbor,  named 
Peggy  Bailly.  This  ruck,  as  they  say  on  the  turf, 
was  pretty  well  up  together,  but  all  the  rest  no- 
where. And  now,  to  continue  the  metaphor,  as  is 
the  case  at  Goodwood  or  the  Curragh,  the  whole 
interest  was  centred  upon  these  four.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  last  hour  the  state  of  the  case 
was  proclaimed,  as  follows: — Betty  Aikins,  three 
dozen  and  eight  cuts;  Dora  M’Mahon,  three  dozen 
and  seven  cuts;  Hanna  Cavanagh,  three  dozen  and 
five  cuts;  and  Peggy  Bailly,  three  dozen  and  four 
cuts.  Every  individual  had  now  her  own  party  anx- 
ious for  her  success,  and  amidst  this  hour  of  inter- 
est how  many  hearts  beat  with  all  the  hopes  and 
fears  that  are  incident  even  to  the  most  circum- 
scribed contests  of  human  life.  Opposite  Dora 
stood  the  youth  whom  we  have  already  noticed, 
James  Cavanagh,  whose  salvation  seemed  but  a 
very  trifling  thing  when  compared  or  put  into  oppo- 
sition with  her  success.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  mo^ 
ment  was  a most  exciting  one,  even  to  those  who 
felt  no  other  interest  than  that  which  naturally 
arises  from  human  competition.  And  it  was  un- 
questionably a beautiful  thing  to  witness  this  par- 
ticular contest  between  four  youthful  and  industri- 
ous young  women.  Dora’s  otherwise  pale  and 
placid  features  were  now  mantling,  and  her  beauti- 
ful dark  eyes  flashing,  under  the  proud  and  ardent 
spirit  of  ambition,  for  such  in  fact  was  the  principle 
which  now  urged  and  animated  the  contest.  When 
6 


122 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


nearly  half-an-hour  had  passed,  Kathleen  came  be- 
hind her,  and  stooping  down,  whispered  : — “ Dora, 
don’t  turn  your  wheel  so  quickly : you  move  the 
loot-board  too  fast — don’t  twist  the  thread  too  much, 
and  you’ll  let  down  more.” 

Dora  smiled  and  looked  up  to  her  with  a grateful 
and  flashing  eye ; “ Thank  you,  Kathleen,”  she  re- 
plied, nodding,  “ I’ll  take  your  advice.”  The  state 
of  the  contest  was  then  proclaimed  : — Betty  Aikins 
— three  dozen  and  ten  cuts;  Dora  M’Mahon — three 
dozen  and  ten  cuts  ; Hanna  Cavanagh — three  dozen, 
six  cuts  and  a half;  Peggy  Bailly — three  dozen,  flve 
and  a half. 

On  hearing  this,  Betty  Aikin’s  cheek  became 
scarlet,  and  as  it  is  useless  to  disguise  the  fact,  seve- 
ral flashing  glances  that  partook  more  of  a Penthesi- 
lean  fire  than  the  fearful  spirit  which  usually  charac- 
terizes the  industrious  pursuits  of  Minerva,  were  shot 
at  generous  Dora,  who  sustained  her  portion  of  the 
contest  with  singular  spirit  and  temper. 

“You  may  as  well  give  it  up,  Dora  M’Mahon,” 
exclaimed  Betty;  “there  never  was  one  of  your 
blood  could  open  against  an  Aikins — the  stufi*  is  not 
in  you  to  beat  me.” 

“Avery  little  time  will  soon  tell  that,”  replied 
Dora ; “ but  indeed,  Betty,  if  am  doin’  my  best  to 
•win  the  kemp,  I hope  it’s  not  in  a bad  or  unfriendly 
spirit,  but  in  one  of  fair  play  and  good  humor.” 

The  contest  now  went  on  for  about  fifteen  min- 
utes, with  surpassing  interest  and  animation,  at  the 
expiration  of  which  period,  the  seven  o’clock  bell 
already  alluded  to,  rang  the  hour  for  closing  their 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


123 


labors  and  determining  the  victory.  Thus  stood 
their  relative  positions — Dora  M’Mahon,  four  hanks 
and  three  cuts;  Betty  Aikins,  four  hanks;  Hanna 
Cavanagh,  three  hanks  and  nine  cuts  ; Peggy  Bailly, 
three  lianks  and  eigiit  cuts. 

When  this  result  was  made  known,  Betty  Aikins 
burst  into  a loud  fit  of  grief,  in  which  she  sobbed  as 
if  her  very  heart  would  break,  and  Kathleen  stoop- 
ing down,  congratulated  the  beautiful  girl  upon  her 
victory,  kissing  her  at  tiie  same  time  as  she  spoke — 
an  act  of  love  and  kindness  in  which  she  would 
have  joyfully  been  followed  by  several  of  her  male 
friends,  if  they  bad  dared  to  take  that  delicious 
liberty. 

The  moment  of  victory,  we  believe,  is  that  which 
may  be  relied  upon  as  the  test  of  true  greatness. 
Dora  M’Mahon  felt  the  pride  of  that  moment  in  its 
fullest  extent,  but  she  felt  it  only  to  influence  her 
better  and  nobler  prijiciples.  After  casting  her  eyes 
around  to  gather  in,  as  it  were,  that  honest  appro- 
bation which  is  so  natural,  and  exchanging  some 
rapid  glances  with  the  youth  we  have  alluded  to,  she 
went  over  to  her  defeated  competitor,  and  taking 
her  hand  said,  “ Don’t  cry,  Betty,  you  have  no  right 
to  be  ashamed  ; sure,  as  you  say,  it’s  the  first  time 
you  wor  ever  beaten;  we  couldn’t  all  win;  an’  in- 
deed if  I feel  proud  now,  every  one  knows  an’  says 
I have  a right  to  be  so;  for  where  was  there — ay,  or 
where  is  there — sich  a spinner  as  you  are  ? Shake 
hands  now  an’  there’s  a kiss  for  you.  If  I won  this 
kemp,  it  was  won  more  by  chance  than  by  anything 
else.” 


121 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 


These  generous  expressions  were  not  lost  on  Bet- 
ty ; on  the  cootrary,  they  soothed  her  so  mucli  that 
she  gave  lier  hand  cordially  to  her  young  and  inter- 
esting corjqueress,  after  which  they  all  repaired  to  a 
snj)per  of  new  milk  and  flummery,  tlian  which  there 
is  nothing  more  delicious  within  the  wide  range  of 
luxury.  This  agreeable  meal  being  over,  they  re- 
paired to  the  large  barn  where  Mickey  M’Grory, 
tlie  fiddler,  was  installed  in  his  own  peculiar  orches- 
tra, consisting  of  an  arm-chair  of  old  Irish  oak, 
brought  out  from  Gerald  Cavanagh’s  parlor. 

It  would  indeed  be  difficult  to  find  together  such 
a group  of  happy  faces.  Gerald  Cavanagli  and  his 
wi  e,  Tom  M’Mahon  and  his  better  half,  and  several 
of  the  neighbors,  of  every  age  and  creed,  were  all 
assembled ; and,  in  this  instance,  neither  grey  hairs 
nor  length  of  years  were  looked  upon  as  privileged 
from  a participation  in  the  festivities  of  the  evening. 
Among  the  rest,  gaunt  and  grim,  were  the  llirce 
Hogans, looking  tli rough  the  light-h(‘arted  assemblage 
Mith  the  dark  and  sinister  visages  of  thorough  ruf- 
fians, who  were  altogether  incapable  of  joining  in  the 
cheerful  and  inoffensive  amusements  that  went  for- 
ward around  them.  Kate  Hogan  sat  in  an  obscure 
corner  behind  the  fiddler,  where  she  was  scarcely 
visible,  but  from  which  she  enjoyed  a full  view  of 
everything  that  occurred  in  the  house. 

A shebeen-man,  named  Paria  Bradagh,  father  to 
Barney,  whom  the  reader  has  already  met  in  the 
still-house,  brought  a cask  of  poteen  to  the  stable, 
where  he  disposed  of  it  suh  silentio^  by  which  we 
mean  without  the  knowledge  of  Gerald  Cavanagh, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


125 


■who  would  not  have  suffered  any  such  person  about 
liis  place,  had  the  circumstance  been  made  known  to 
him.  Amo'ng  the  rest,  in  tlie  course  of  the  evening, 
our  friend  O’Finigan  the  Philomath  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  as  was  his  wont  very  considerably  ad- 
A^anced  in  liquor.  The  worthy  pedagoue,  on  inquir- 
ing for  the  queen  of  the  kemp,  as  he  styled  her,  was 
told  that  he  might  know  her  by  the  flowers  in  her 
liair.  '‘There  she  is,  maslher,  said  one  of  them, 
“ wid  the  roses  on  lier  head.” 

“Well,”  said  O’Finigan,  looking  about  him  with 
surprise,  “ i have,  before  now,  indulged  in  the  Cere- 
lian  juice  until  my  eyes  have  bicome  possessed  of 
that  equivocal  quality  called  the  double  vision^  but  I 
must  confess  that  this  is  the  first  occasion  on  which 
the  quality  aforesaid  has  been  quadrupled.  Instead 
of  one  queen,  wid  Flora’s  fragrant  favors  in  her 
locks,  I think  I see  four.” 

Finigan  indeed  was  right.  Dora,  on  being  pre- 
sented with  a simple  chaplet  of  flowers,  as  the 
heroine  of  the  night,  in  a spirit  of  true  magnanimity 
generously  divided  the  chaplet  among  her  three 
rivals,  thus,  like  every  brave  heart,  resting  satisfied 
Avith  the  consciousness  of  victory,  and  anxious  that 
those  who  had  approached  her  so  nearly  should  also 
share  in  its  honors. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  enter  into  a detailed  ac- 
count of  the  dancing,  nor  of  the  good  humor  which 
prevailed  among  them.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
old  people  performed  minuets  and  cotillions,  and  tlie 
young  folks,  jigs,  reels,  and  country  dances;  horn- 
pipes were  performed  upon  doors,  by  rural  dancers, 


126 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


and  all  the  usual  variations  of  mirth  and  amusement 
were  indulged  in  on  the  occasion. 

We  have  said  that  Tom  M Mahon  and  his  family 
were  there,  but  we  should  have  added,  with  one  ex- 
ception. Bryan  did  not  arrive  until  the  evening 
was  far  advanced,  having  been  prevented  by  press- 
ing business  connected  with  his  farm.  On  making 
his  appearance,  he  was  greeted  by  a mumur  of  wel- 
comes, and  many  an  honest  hand  was  extended  to 
him.  Up  until  tiien  there  were  two  individuals  who 
observed  Kathleen  Cavanagh  closely,  and  we  must 
ourselves  admit  that  both  came  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion. It  was  clear  that  during  the  whole  evening 
she  had  been  unusually  pensive,  if  not  actually  de- 
pressed, although  a general  observer  would  have 
seen  nothing  in  her  beyond  the  natural  sedateness 
of  her  manner.  The  two  in  question  w^ere  Kate 
Hogan  and  Dora  M’Mahon.  On  Bryan’s  arrival, 
however,  the  color  of  her  cheek  deepened  into  a 
richer  beauty,  the  eye  became  more  sparkling,  and 
a much  slighter  jest  than  before  moved  her  into- 
mirth.  Such,  however,  we  are,  and  such  is  the  mys- 
tery of  our  nature.  It  might  have  been  remarked 
that  the  Hogans  eyed  Bryan,  soon  after  making  his 
appearance,  \(^ith  glances  expressive  of  anything  but 
good  feeling.  It  was  not,  however,  when  he  first  ar- 
rived, or  danced  with  Hanna  Cavanagh,  that  these 
boding  glances  were  turned  upon  him,  but  on  the 
occasion  of  his  performing  a reel  with  Kathleen.  It 
might  have  been  noticed  that  they  looked  at  him, 
and  afterwards  at  each  other,  in  a manner  that  could 
admit  of  but  little  misapprehension. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


121 


‘‘Philip,”  observed  Finigan,  addressing  the  elder 
Hogan,  “ Philip,  the  Macedonian — nlonarch  of  Mace- 
don,  I say,  is  not  that  performance  a beautiful  speci- 
men of  the  saltatory  art?  There  is  manly  beauty, 
O Philip  ! and  modest  carriage. 

“ ‘ With  aquil  beauty  formed,  and  aquail  grace,  ' 

Hers  the  soft  blushes  of  the  opening  morn, 

And  his  the  radiance  of  the  risen  day.’  ” 

“It’s  night  now,  raasther,  if  you  plaise,”  returned 
Hogan,  gruffly ; “ but  we  don’t  want  your  opinion 
here — stick  to  your  pot-hooks  and  hangers — keep  to 
your  trade.” 

The  pot-hooks  and  hangers  are  more  tin  generis ^ 
you  misbegotten  satyr,”  replied  the  schoolmaster; 
“ that  is,  more  appropriately  concatenated  wid  your 
own  trade  than  wid  mine.  I have  no  trade,  sirra, 
but  a profession,  and  neither  have  you.  You  stand 
in  the  same  degraded  ratio  to  a tradesman  that  a 
rascally  quack  does  to  a regular  surgeon.” 

“ You  had  better  keep  a civil  tongue  in  your  head,” 
replied  Hogan,  nettled  at  the  laughter  which  the 
schoolmaster  raised  at  his  expense. 

“ What ! a civil  tongue  for  you  ! Polite  language 
for  a rascally  sotherer  of  ould  skillets  and  other 
anonymous  utensils.  Why,  what  are  you  ? — firstly, 
a general  violation  of  the  ten  commandments;  and, 
secondly,  a mis-shapen  but  fiitljful  impersonation  of 
tlie  seven  deadly  sins.  Take  my  word  for  it,  my 
worthy  Macedonian,  you  will  die  any  death  but  a 
horizontal  one  — it  s veracity  I’m  telling  you.  Yet 
there  is  some  comfort  for  you  too — some  comfort,  I say 
again;  for  you  wlio  never  lived  one  upright  hour 


128 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


will  die  an  upright  death.  A certain  official  will 
erect  a perpendicular  with  you;  but  for  that  touch 
of  Mathematics  you  must  go  to  the  hangman,  at 
whose  liands  you  will  have  to  receive  the  riles  of 
your  church,  you  monstrous  bog-trotting  Gorgon. 
Mine  a trade  ! Shades  of  Academus,  am  I to  bear 
this  ! ” 

Finigan  was,  like  most  of  his  class,  a privileged 
man  ; but  on  this  occasion  the  loudness  of  the  mirth 
prevented  Hogan’s  reply  from  being  heard.  As  to 
violence,  nobody  that  knew  the  poor  pedagogue  could 
ever  dreamt  of  using  it  towards  him,  and  there  is 
little  doubt  that  the  consciousness  of  this  caused  him 
to  give  his  tongue  a license  when  provoked  which 
he  otherwise  would  not  liave  dared  to  venture  upon. 
When  he  first  made  his  appearance  he  was  so  far  ad- 
vanced in  liquor  as  scarcely  to  be  able  to  stand,  and 
it  was  quite  evident  that  the  heat  of  the  crowded 
house  by  no  means  improved  him. 

In  about  a quarter  of  an  hour  after  Bryan  and 
Kathleen  had  danced,  the  good  people  of  the  kemp 
were  honored  by  the  appearance  of  Hycy  Burke 
among  them — not  in  his  jockey  dress,  but  in  a tight- 
fitting  suit,  that  set  off  his  exceedingly  well-made 
person  to  great  advantage.  In  fact,  Hycy  was  a 
young  fellow  of  a remarkably  handsome  face,  full  of 
liveliness  and  apparent  good  humor,  and  a figure 
. that  was  nearly  perfect.  He  addressed  the  persons 
present  with  an  air  of  easy  condescension,  and  went 
over  immediately  and  shook  hands,  in  a very  cordial 
manner,  with  Gerald  Cavanagh  and  his  wife,  after 
which  he  turned  round  and  bowed  to  the  daughters. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


129 


He  then  addressed  Bryan,  beside  whom  Kathleen 
was  sitting. 

‘‘Bryan,”  said  he,  “ there  will  be  mistakea  in  the 
best  of  families.  1 hate  enmity.  How  do  you  do  ? ” 

Bryan  nodded,  and  replied,  “Pretty  well,  Hycy — 
how  are  you?  ” 

Cavanagh  and  his  wife  were  evidently  quite  de- 
lighted to  see  him  ; the  good  man  rose  and  made  him 
take  his  own  seat,  and  Mrs.  Cavanagh  paid?  him 
every  conceivable  mark  of  attention. 

“Mrs.  Cavanagh,”  said  he,  after  some  chat,  “may 
I be  permitted  to  indulge  in  the  felicity  of  .^a  dance 
with  Miss  Cavanagh?” 

“ Which  of  them?”  asked  the  mother,  and  then 
added  without  wailing  for  a reply — “ to  be  sure  you 
may.” 

“ The  felicity  of  a dance  ! that  was  well  expressed, 
Mr.  Hycy  ; but  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  you 
broke  grammatical  ground  under  Patricius  Finigau 
— ah,  no;  the  early  indoctrinations  will  tell; — that 
is  clear.” 

“I  mean  Miss  Kathleen,”  replied  Hycy,  without 
paying  any  atteiition  to  Finigan’s  observations. 

“Why  not?”  exclaimed  both;  “of  course  you 
will — go  over  and  bring  her  out.” 

Hycy,  approaching  her,  said,  in  his  blandest  aiid 
most  persuasive  manner,  “ Miss  Cavanagh,  will  you 
allow  me  the  gratification  of  dancing  a reel  with  you?” 

“Pm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Burke,”  she  replied, 
gravely;  “I  have  just  danced  a reel  with  Bryan 
M’Mahon  here,  and  I don’t  intend  to  dance  any  more 
to-night.” 


130 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


“ A Simple  reel  ? ” said  Hycy ; “ perhaps  you  will 
so  far  favor  me  ? I shall  consider  it  as  a favor,  I 
assure  you.” 

“ Excuse  me,  Mr.  Burke,  but  I won’t  dance  any 
more  to-night.” 

“That’s  hard,”  he  replied,  “especially  as  I came 
all  the  way  to  have  that  pleasure.  Perhaps  you  will 
change  your  mind.  Miss  Cavanagh  ? ” 

“ I’m  not  in  the  habit  of  changing  my  mind,  Mr. 
Burke,”  she  replied,  “ and  I don’t  see  any  reason  why 
I should  do  so  now.  I say  once  for  all  that  I won’t 
dance  any  more  to-night.” 

“ What  is  it,”  asked  the  mother,  on  perceiving  her 
hesitation;  “ won’t  she  dance  wid  you?  Hut,  tut, 
Kathleen,  what  nonsense  is  this  ? To  be  sure  you 
must  dance  wid  Mr.  Burke ; don’t  take  any  refusal, 
Mr.  Burke — is  that  all  you  know  about  girls  ? — sure 
nineteen  refusals  is  aquil  to  one  consent.  Go  over, 
Gerald,  and  make  her  dance  wid  him,”  she  added, 
turning  to  her  husband. 

“What’s  the  matter,  Kathleen,  that  you  won’t 
dance  wid  Mr.  Hycy?”  asked  the  good  man. 

“ Because  I have  danced  all  I will  dance  to-night, 
father.” 

“ Tut,  nonsense,  yon  foolish  girl — it’s  proud  you 
ought  to  be  that  he’d  ax  you.  Get  up  and  dance  a 
reel  wdd  him.” 

Hanna,  who  knew  her  sister’s  resolution  when 
once  formed,  immediately  came  to  her  rescue. 
“Don’t  ask  her,  father,”  she  said;  “the  truth  is, 
that  I believe  she  has  a headache— however.  I’ll 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


131 


take  her  place — have  you  any  objection  to  me,  Mr. 
Burke?” 

None  in  the  world — he  would  be  very  happy — 
only  he  regretted  that  he  could  not  have  that  pleas- 
ure also  with  her  sister. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Hycy — which  is  properly  Hyacintiius,” 
said  Fiuigan ; “I  am  able  to  perceive  that  Cupid 
declines  to  be  propitious  in  that  quarter,  or  perhaps 
it’s  the  ircB  amantium — which  is,  on  being  rendered 
into  vernacularity,  a falling  out  of  lovers ; and  if 
so,  do  not  despair;  for  as  certain  as  it  is,  it  will  be 
followed  by  that  most  delectable  of  •processes,  the 
redintegratio  amoris^  or  the  renewing  of  love.  In 
fact,  he  is  little  better  than  a tyro — an  ignoramus^ 
who  doesn’t  quarrel  at  least  once  a week,  wid  the 
fair  object  of  his  amorous  inclinations,  an’  that  for 
the  sake  of  the  reconciliations.” 

Hycy  and  Hanna  were  now  about  to  dance,  when 
Philip  Hogan  came  forward,  and,  with  an  oath,  de- 
clared that  Kathleen  must  dance — “He  wouldn’t 
see  Mr.  Burke  insulted  that  way  by  any  such  airs — 

and  by  she  must  dance.  Come,”  said  he, 

“ what  stuff  is  this — wedl  see  whether  you  or  I is 
strongest;”  and  as  he  spoke  he  seized  her  rudely 
by  the  arm,  and  was  about  to  pull  her  out  on  the 
floor. 

Bryan  M’Mahon  sprung  to  his  feet.  “Let  her 
go,  you  ruffian,”  he  exclaimed ; “ let  her  go  this  in- 
stant.” 

“ No,  I won’t,”  replied  the  savage;  “an’  not  for 
you,  at  any  rate.  Come,  Miss  Kathleen,  out  you’ll 
go : — for  you  indeed,”  he  added,  in  a ferocious  paren- 


132 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


thesis,  looking  at  Bryan  ; “it’s  you  that’s  the  cause 
of  all  this.  Come,  miss,  dance  you  must.” 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  M’Mahon, 
by  a single  blow  on  the  neck,  felled  him  like  an  ox, 
and  in  an  instant  the  whole  place  was  a scene  of 
wild  commotion.  The  Hogans,  however,  at  all  times 
unpopular,  had  no  chance  in  an  open  affray  on  such 
an  occasion  as  this.  The  feeling  that  predominated 
was,  that  the  ruffanly  interference  of  Philip  had 
been  .justly  punished  ; and  ere  many  minutes  the 
usual  harmony,  with  the  exception  of  some  threaten- 
ing looks  and  ferocious  under  growls  from  the  Ho- 
gans, was  restored.  Hycy  and  Hanna  then  went  n 
with  their  dance,  and  when  it  was  over,  the  school- 
master rose  to  depart. 

“Mr.  Burke,”  said  he,  “you  are  and  have  the  re- 
putation of  bi  ing  a perfect  gentleman — homo  f ac- 
tus ad  unguem—^^  has  been  said  by  the  learned 
little  Roman,  who,  between  you  and  me,  was  not 
overburthened  with  an  excess  of  morality.  I take 
the  liberty,  jinteels,  of  wishing  you  a good-night — 
precor  vobls  iwosperam  noctem  I Ah,  I can  do  it 
yet;  but  it  wasn’t  for  notlnng  that  I practised  the 
peripatetics  in  lamed  Kerry,  where  the  great 
O'Finigan  is  not  yet  forgotten.  I shall  now  seek  a 
contiguous  place  of  repose,  until  tlie  consequences 
of  some  slight  bacchanalian  libations  on  my  part 
shall  have  dispersed  themselves  into  thin  air.” 

He  accordingly  departed,  but  from  the  unsteadi- 
ness of  his  step  it  was  clear  that,  as  he  said,  the 
place  of  his  rep  'se  must  be  contiguous  indeed.  Had 
he  been  conscious  of  his  own  motions  it  is  not  like- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


133 


]y  he  would  have  sought  for  repose  in  Cavanagh’s 
kilu,  then  the  habitation  of  the  Hogans.  It  was 
probably  tlie  fact  of  the  door  having  been  left  open, 
which  was  generally  the  case  in  summer,  that  in- 
duced him  to  enter — for  enter  he  did — ignorant,  it 
is  to  be  presumed,  that  the  dwelling  he  was  about 
to  enter  was  then  inhabited  by  the  Hogans,  whom 
he  very  much  disrelished. 

The  place  was  nearly  waste,  and  had  a very  deso- 
late look.  Scattered  around,  and  littered  upon 
shake-down  beds  of  straw,  some  half  dozen  young 
besmutted  savages,  male  and  female,  lay  stretched 
in  all  positions,  some  north,  others  south,  without 
order  or  decency,  but  all  seeming  in  that  bar- 
barous luxury  which  denotes  strong  animal  health 
and  an  utter  disregard  of  cleanliness  and  bodily 
comfort. 

Over  in  one  of  the  corners  lay  three  or  four  bud- 
gets, old  iron  skillets,  hammers,  lumps  of  melted 
lead,  broken  pots,  a quantity  of  cows’  horns  f«u* 
spoons,  wooden  dishes  that  required  clasping,  old 
kettles  that  wanted  repair,  a couple  of  cast  off  Pot- 
teen  Stills,  and  a new  one  half  made — all  of  which 
were  visible  by  the  light  of  a large  log  of  bog-fir 
which  lay  burning  in  the  fireplace.  On  looking 
around  him,  he  descended  a flight  of  stone  steps 
that  led  to  the  fireplace  of  the  kiln  or  opening  in 
which  the  fuel  used  to  dry  the  grain  was  always 
burned.  This  corner,  which  was  eight  or  ten  feet 
below  the  other  portion  of  the  floor,  being  in  general 
during  the  summer  months  filled  with  straw, 
received  the  drowsy  pedagogue, "'who,  in  a few 


134 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


minutes,  was  as  sound  asleep  as  any  of  them  about 
Lira. 

Hycy,  who  was  conscious  of  his  good  figure, 
danced  two  or  three  times  afterwards.  Dora  M’- 
Mahon  had  the  honor  of  being  his  partner,  as  had 
one  or  two  of  the  best  looking  girls  present.  At 
the  close  of  the  last  dance  he  looked  significantly  at 
the  Hogans,  and  nodded  towards  the  door;  after 
which,  it  might  have  been  observed,  that  they  slunk 
out  one  at  a time,  followed  in  a few  minutes  by 
Kate.  Hycy,  after  some  further  chat  with  Gerald 
Cavanagh  and  his  wife,  threw  half-a*crown  to 
Mickey  M’Grory,  and  in  his  usual  courteous  phrase- 
logy,  through  which  there  always  ran,  by  the  way, 
a vein  of  strong  irony,  he  politely  wished  them  all  a 
good  night. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


135 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ANONYMOUS  LETTER  AYTTH  A NAME  TO  IT — FINIGAN's 
DIALOGUE  WITH  HYCY.* 

The  severest  tax  upon  Ilycy’s  powers  of  inven- 
tion was,  in  consecpience  of  his  habits  of  idleness,  to 
find  means  of  occupying  his  time.  Sometimes,  it  is 
true,  he  condescended  to  oversee  the  men  while  at 
work,  but  then  it  was  generally  found  that  so  far 
from  keeping  them  to  their  employment,  he  was  a 
considerable  drawback  upon  their  industry.  The 
ordinary  business  of  his  life,  however,  was  riding 
about  the  country,  and  especially  into  the  town  of 
Ballymacan  and  home  again.  He  was  also  a regu- 
lar attendant  in  all  the  neighboring  fairs ; and  we 
may  safely  assert  that  no  race  in  the  province  ever 
came  off  without  him. 

On  the  second  day  after  hTs  interview  with 
Teddy  Phats  and  the  Hogans,  he  was  riding  past 
the  post-office,  when  he  heard  the  window  tapped, 
and,  on  approaching,  a letter  was  handed  out  to 
him,  which  on  opening  he  found  to  contain  the  fol- 
lowing communication : — 

‘‘  Worthy  Mr.  Hyacinthus, — 

A FRIEND  unknown  to  you,  but  not  altogether  so 
to  fame,  and  one  whom  no  display  of  the  subtlest 
ingenuity  on  behalf  of  your  acute  and  sagacious  in- 
tellect could  ever  decypher  through  the  medium  of 


133 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA 


this  epistle,  begs  to  convey  to  you  a valuable  por- 
tion of  anonymous  information.  When  he  says 
that  he  is  not  unknown  to  fame,  the  assertion,  as  far 
as  it  goes,  is  pregnant  wid  veracity.  Mark  that  I 
say,  as  far  as  it  goes,  by  which  is  meant  the  asser- 
tion as  well  as  the  fame  of  your  friend,  the  inditer 
of  this  significant  epistle.  Forty-eight  square  miles 
of  good  sound  fame  your  not  inerudite  correspond- 
ent can  conscientiously  lay  claim  to  ; and  although 
there  is,  with  regret  I admit  it,  a considerable  por- 
tion of  the  square  superficies  alluded  to,  waste  and 
uncultivated  moor,  yet  I can  say,  wid  that  racy 
touch  of  genial  and  expressive  pride  which  distin- 
guishes men  of  letters  iu  general,  that  the  other  por- 
tions of  this  fine  district  are  inhabited  by  a multitu- 
dinity  of  population  in  the  highest  degree  creditable 
to  the  prolific  powers  of  the  climate.  ’Tisn’t  all  as 
one,  then,  as  that  thistle-browsing  quadruped. 
Barney  Heffernan,  who  presumes,  in  imitation  of  his 
betters,  to  write  Philomath  after  his  name,  and 
whose  whole  extent  of  literary  reputation  is  not 
more  than  two  or  three  beggarly  townlands,  whom, 
by  the  way,  he  is  inoculating  successfully  wid  his 
own  ripe  and  flourishing  ignorance.  No,  sir;  nor 
like  Gusty  Gibberish,  or  (as  he  has  been  most  face- 
tiously christened  by  his  Reverence,  Father  OTla- 
herty)  Demosthenes  M'Gosther,  inasmuch  as  he  is 
distinguished  for  an  aisy  and  prodigal  superfluity  of 
mere  words,  unsustained  by  intelligibility  or  mean- 
ing, but  who  cannot  claim  in  his  own  person  a mile 
and  a half  of  dacent  reputation.  However,  quid 
multis?  Mr.  Hyacinthus;  ’tis  no  indoctrinated  or 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


137 


obscure  scribe  wlio  now  addresses  you,  and  who 
does  so  from  causes  that  may  be  salutary  to  your 
owu  health  and  very^  gentlemanly  fame,  according 
as  you  resave  the  same,  not  pretermilting  interests 
involving,  probably,  on  your  part,  an  abundant  por- 
tion of  pecuniarity. 

“ In  short,  then,  it  has  reached  these  ears,  Mr. 
Hyacinth  us,  and  between  you  and  me,  they  are  not 
such  a pair  as,  in  consequence  of  their  longitudinity, 
can  be  copiously  shaken,  or  which  rise  and  fall  ac- 
cording to  the  will  of  the  wearer,  like  those  of  the 
thistle-browser  already  alluded  to ; it  has  reached 
them  that  you  are  about  to  substantiate  a disre23uta- 
ble — excuse  the  phrase — co-partnership  wid  four  of 
the  most  ornamental  villains  on  Hibernian  earth,  by 
which  you  must  understand  me  to  mane  that  the 
villains  aforesaid  are  not  merely  accomplished  in  all 
the  plain  principles  and  practices  of  villany,  but 
finished  off  even  to  its  natest  and  most  inganious 
decorations.  Their  whole  life  has  been  most  assidu- 
ously and  successfully  devoted  to  a general  viola- 
tion of  the  ten  commandments,  as  well  as  to  the 
perpetual  commission  of  the  seven  deadly  sins. 

the reserved  cases'*'*  themselves  can’t  escape 
them,  and  it  is  well  known  that  they  won’t  rest 
satisfied  wid  the  wide  catalogue  of  ordinary  and 
general  iniquity,  but  they  must,  by  way  of  luxury, 
liave  a lick  at  blasphemy,  and  some  of  the  rarer 
vices,  as  often  as  they  can,  for  the  villains  are  so 
fastidious  that  they  won’t  put  up  wid  common 
wickedness  like  other  people.  I cannot,  however, 
wid  anything  approximating  to  a safe  conscience, 


138 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


rest  here.  What  I have  said  has  reference  to  tlie 
laws  of  God,  but  what  I am  about  to  enumerate  re- 
lates to  the  laws  of  man — to  the  laws  of  the  land. 
Wid  respect,  then,  to  them,  I do  assure  you,  that  al- 
though I myself  look  upon  the  violation  of  a great 
number  of  the  latter  wid  a very  vanial  squint,  still, 
I say,  I do  assure  you  that  they  have  not  left  a sin- 
gle law  made  by  Parliament  un fractured.  They 
have  gone  over  the  whole  statute-book  several 
times,  and  I believe  are  absolutely  of  opinion  tliat 
the  Parliament  is  doing  nothing.  The  most  lynx- 
eyed  investigator  of  old  enactments  could  not  find 
one  which  has  escaped  them,  for  the  villains  are  per- 
fectly black  letter  in  that  respect;  and  what  is  in 
proper  keeping  wid  this,  whenever  they  hear  of  a 
new  Act  of  Parliament  they  cannot  rest  either  night 
or  day  until  they  break  it.  And  now  for  the  infer- 
ence: be  on  your  guard  against  this  pandemonial 
squad.  Whatever  your  object  may  be  in  cultivat- 
ing and  keeping  society  wid  them,  theirs  is  to  ruin 
you — fleece  was  the  word  used — and  then  to  cut 
and  run,  leaving  Mr.  Hycy — the  acute,  the  penetrat- 
ing, the  accomplished — completely  in  the  lurch.  Be 
influenced,  then,  by  the  amicitial  admonitions  of  the 
inditer  of  this  correspondence.  Become  not  a smug- 
gler— forswear  poteen.  The  Lord  forgive  me,  Mr. 
Hycy — no,  I only  wished  to  say  forswear — not  the 
poteen — but  any  connection  wid  the  illegal  alembic 
from  which  it  is  distillated,  otherwise  they  will 
walk  off  wid  the  ‘ doublings,’  or  strong  liquor,  leav- 
ing you  nothing  but  the  residuum  or  feints.  Take 
a friend's  advice,  therefore,  and  retrograde  out  of 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


139 


all  society  and  connexion  wid  the  villains  I have 
described ; or  if  you  superciliously  overlook  this 
warning,  book  it  down  as  a fact  that  admits  of  no 
negation,  that  you  will  be  denuded  of  reputation, 
of  honesty,  and  of  any  pecuniary  contingencies 
that  you  may  happen  to  possess.  Tnis  is  a sincere 
advice  from 

“Your  Anonymous  Friend, 

“ Patricius  O’Finigan,  Philomath.” 

After  perusing  this  characteristic  production  Hycy 
paused  for  a little,  and  felt  it  very  probable  that 
there  might  be  some  reasonable  grounds  for  its  pro- 
duction, although  he  could  scarcely  understand  upon 
what  motive  these  fellows  should  proceed  to  prac- 
tice treachery  towards  him.  That  they  were  with- 
out principle  or  honesty  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  ; 
but  he  knew  it  was  their  interest  to  keep  within 
bounds  in  all  matters  connected  with  their  employ- 
ment. He  laughed  very  heartily  at  Finigan’s  blun- 
der— f >r  such  it  evidently  was — in  signing  his  name 
to  a document  that  he  intended  to  be  anonymous. 
“ At  all  events,”  thought  he,  “ I will  ride  over  to 
his  ‘ seminary,’  as  he  calls  it,  and  see  what  he  can 
mean,  or  what  his  object  is  in  sending  me  such  a 
warning.” 

He  accordingly  did  so,  and  in  some  twenty  min- 
utes reached  a small  cabin  that  stood  about  a couple 
of  hundred  yards  from  the  high-road,  A little  bri- 
dle way  led  to  it,  as  did  several'minor  pathways, 
each  radiating  from  a different  direction.  It  was 
surrounded  by  four  or  five  acres  of  common,  where 
the  children  played  from  twelve  to  one,  at  which 


140 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


hour  Mr.  O’Finigan  went  to  the  house  of  some  weal- 
thy benefactor  to  dine.  The  little  village  of  Bally- 
drutliy,  at  a short  distance  from  which  it  stood,  was 
composed  of  a couple  dozen  d welling-liouses,  a ciiapid, 
a small  grocer’s  and  publican’s,  together  with  a 
Pound  at  the  entrance,  through  which  ran  a little 
stream  necessary  to  enable  the  imprisoned  cattle  to 
drink. 

On  riding  up  to  the  school,  Hycy,  as  he  approach- 
the  door,  heard  his  own  name  repeated  by  at  least 
two  dozen  voices. 

“Here’s  a gintleman,  masther  ” — “It’s  Misther 
Hycy  Burke,  sir  ” — “ It  is,  bedad,  sir,  Hycy  the 
sportheen — ” 

“ Him  that  rides  the  race,  masther  ” — “ Ay,  an’ 
he  has  on  top-boots  and  buckskins,  an’s  as  gran’  as  a 
gintleman — ” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  Finigan,  “ silence  ! I say  ; is  this 
proper  scholastic  decorum  in  the  presence  of  a stran- 
ger? Industry  and  taciturnity,  you  reptiles,  or 
castigation  shall  result.  Here,  Paddy  Sparable,” 
he  added,  rising  up — “ here,  you  nailrod,  assume  my 
office,  and  rule  the  establislirnent  till  I return ; and, 
mark  me,  as  the  son  of  a nailer,* sirra,  I expect  that 
you  will  rule  them  with  a rod  of  iron — ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” 

“Ay,  but  Paddy  Pancake’s  here  to-day,  sir,  an’ 
he’s  able  to  welt  me  ; so  that’s  it’s  only  leathered  I’d 
get,  sir,  i’  you  plase.” 

“But  have  you  no  officers  ? Call  in  aid,  I ordher 
you.  Can’t  you  make  Sam  Scaddhan  and  Phiddlier 
Mackleswig  there  two  polis^  an’  get  Pancake  down 
— flatten  him — if  he  prove  contumacious  during 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


141 


my  absence.  Pancake,  mark  me,  obedience  is  your 
cue,  or,  if  not,  the  castigator  here  is  your  alternative  ; 
there  it  is,  freshly  cut  —ripe  and  ready — and  you  are 
not  to  be  told,  at  this  time  o’  day,  what  portion  of 
your  corpus  will  cat  ch  it.  Whish-h-h  ! — silence  ! I say. 
How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Burke?  I am  proud  of  a visit 
from  you,  sir;  perhaps  you  would  light  down  and  ex- 
amine a class.  My  Greeks  are  all  absent  to-day  ; but 
I have  a beautiful  class  o’  Romas  niii  the  Fourth  Book 
of  Virgil — immortal  Maro.  Do  try  them,  Mr.  Hycy  ; 
if  they  don’t  do  Dido’s  death  in  a truly  congenial 
spirit  I am  no  classic.  Of  one  thing  I can  assure 
you,  that  they  ought ; for  I pledge  my  reputation  it 
is  not  the  first  time  I’ve  made  them  practice  the 
Irish  cry  over  it.  This  however  was  but  natural; 
for  it  is  now  well  known  to  the  learned  that,  if  Dido 
herself  was  not  a fair  Hibernian,  she  at  least  spoke 
excellent  Irish.  Ah,  Mr.  Hycy,”  he  added,  with  a 
grin,  “ the  birch  is  the  only  pathetic  switch  growing  ! 
Will  you  come  in,  sir  ? ” 

“No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Finigan ; but  perhaps 
you  would  have  the  goodness  to  come  out  for  a 
little;”  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  nodded  towards  the 
pu\)lic-house.  “I  know  the  boys  will  be  quiet  until 
you  return.” 

“If  they  don’t,”  replied  Finigan,  “the  alterna- 
tive is  in  no  shape  enigimatical.  Mark  what  I’ve 
already  said,  gintlemen.  Sparable,  do  you  keep  a 
faitliful  journal  of  the  delinquents;  and  observe  that 
there  are  offices  of  importance  in  this  world  besides 
flagellating  erudition  into  reptiles  like  you.” 

He  then  looked  about  him  with  an  air  of  vast 


142  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 

importance,  and  joined  Hycy  on  his  way  to  the 
public-house.  Having  ordered  in  the  worthy  ped- 
agogue’s  favorite  beverage,  not  forgetting  something 
of  the  same  kind  for  himself,  he  addressed  Finigau 
as  follows : — 

“ Finigan,  I received  a devilish  queer  letter  from 
you  to-day — take  your  liquor  in  the  mean  time — 
what  did  you  mean  by  it  ? ” 

“From  me,  Mr.  Hycy — nego^  I say — -pugnis  et 
calc  hu  nego,^'^ 

“ Come,  come,  you  know  you  wrote  me  an  anony- 
mous letter,  referring  to  some  ridiculous  copartner- 
ship or  other  that  I can  neither  make  head  nor  tail 
of.  Tell  me  candidly  what  you  meant.” 

“Very  good,  Mr.  Burke;  but  sure  I know  of  old 
that  jocularity  was  always  your  forte — even  when 
laying  in  under  my  own  instruction  that  sound 
classical  substratum  on  which  the  superstructure  of 
your  subsequent  knowledge  was  erected,  you  were 
always  addicted  to  the  facetious  and  the  fabulous — 
both  of  which  you  contrived  to  blend  together  with 
an  ease  and  volubility  of  language  that  could  not 
be  surpassed.” 

“ That  is  all  very  well ; but  you  need  not  deny 
that  you  wrote  me  the  letter.  Let  me  ask  you  seri- 
ously, what  it  was  you  warned  me  against?” 

“ Propino  tibi  salutem — here’s  to  you.  No,  but 
let  me  ask  you  what  you  are  at,  Mr.  Hycy  ? You 
may  have  resaved  an  anonymous  letter,  but  I am 
ignorant  why  you  should  paternize  it  upon  me.” 

“ Why,  because  it  has  all  the  marks  and  tokens 
of  you.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


143 


“Eh? — to  what  does  that  amount?  Surely  you 
know  my  liandwriting  ? ” 

“Perfectly;  but  this  is  disguised  evidently.” 

“Faith,”  said  the  other,  laughing,  “maybe  the 
inditer  of  it  was  disguised  when  he  wrote  it.” 

“It  might  be,”  replied  Hycy;  “ however,  take 
your  liquor,  and  in  the  mean  time  I shall  feel  exceed- 
ingly obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Finigan,  if  you  will  tell 
me  the  truth  at  once — whether  you  wrote  it  or 
whether  you  did  not?  ” 

“ My  response  again  is  in  the  negative,”  re- 
plied Finigan — “ I disclaim  it  altogether.  I am  not 
the  scribe,  you  may  rest  assured  of  it,  nor  can  I say 
who  is.” 

“Well,  then,”  said  Hycy,  “I  find  I must  convict 
you  yourself  of  the  fabulous  at  least ; read  that,” 
said  he,  placing  the  letter  in  his  own  hands.  “ Like 
a true  Irishman  you  signed  your  name  unconscious- 
ly ; and  now  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  ” 

“Simply,”  replied  the  other,  “that  some  knave, 
of  most  fictitious  imagination,  has  forged  my  name  to 
it.  No  man  can  say  that  that  is  my  manuscription, 
Mr.  Ilycy.”  These  words  he  uttered  wdth  great 
coolness ; and  Hycy,  who  was  in  many  things  a 
shrewd  young  fellow,  deemed  it  better  to  wait  until 
the  liquor,  which  was  fast  disappearing,  should 
begin  to  operate.  At  length,  when  about  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  had  passed,  he  resolved  to  at- 
tack his  vanity. 

“ Well,  well,  Finigan,  as  regards  this  letter,  I 
must  say  I feel  a good  deal  disappointed.” 

“ Why  so,  Mr.  Hycy  ? ” 


144 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘ Wh}^  because  I did  not  think  there  was  any 
other  man  in  the  country  who  cow/c^have  written  it.’* 

“ Eh  ? how  is  that  now  ? ” 

Faith,  it’s  very  pimple;  the  letter  is  written 
with  surprising  ability — the  language  is  beautiful — 
and  the  style,  like  the  land  of  Canaan,  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey.  It  is  certainly  a most  uncommon 
production.” 

“ Now,  seriously,  do  you  think  so  ? At  all  events, 
Mr.  llycy,  it  was  written  by  a friend  of  yours — 
that’s  a clear  case.” 

“ I think  so  ; but  what  strikes  me  is  its  surprising 
ability;  no  wonder  the  writer  should  say  that  he  is 
not  unknown  to  fame — he  could  not  possibly  remain 
in  obscurity.” 

“Mr.  Hycy,  your  health — I remember  when  you 
were  wid  me  you  certainly  were  facile  princeps  for 
a ripe  judgment,  even  in  your  rudiments;  so  tlien, 
you  are  of  opinion  that  the  epistle  in  question  has 
janius  ? I think  myself  it  is  no  everyday  production  ; 
not  I believe  such  as  the  thistle-browser  Hefiernan, 
or  Misther  Demosthenes  M’ Costlier  could  achieve — 
the  one  wid  his  mile  and  a half,  and  the  other  wid 
his  three  townlands  of  reputation.  No,  sir,  to  the 
divil  I pitch  them  both  ; they  could  never  indite 
such  a document.  Your  health,  Mr.  Hycy — propino 
tibi^  I say  ; and  you  are  right,  ille  ego — it’s  a fact ; 
I am  the  man,  sir — I acknowledge  the  charge.” 

This  admission  having  been  made,  we  need  scarcely 
add  that  an  explanation  was  at  once  given  by  Fini- 
gan  of  the  motive  which  had  induced  him  to  write 
the  letter. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


145 


“On  laving tlie  kenip,”  said  he,  “ and  getting  into 
tlie  open  air — sub  dia^  Mr.  llycy — I felt  a general 
liquidation  of  my  whole  bodily  strength,  with  a 
strong  disposition  to  make  short  excursions  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left  rather  than  hold  my  way  straight 
a-head,  with,  I must  confess,  with  an  equal  tendency 
to  deposit  my  body  on  my  mother  earth  and  enact 
the  soporiferous.  On  passing  Gerald  Cavanagh’s 
kiln,  where  the  Hogans  kennel,  I entered,  and  was 
greeted  wid  such  a chorus  of  sternutation,  as  you 
miglit  expect  from  a pig-sty  in  midsummer,  and 
made  me  envy  the  unlicked  young  savages  who  in- 
dulged in  it.  At  the  period  spoken  of  neither  you 
nor  they  had  come  in  from  the  kemp.  Even  this  is 
but  a dim  recollection,  and  I remember  nothing  more 
until  I overheard  your  voice  and  theirs  in  dialogue 
as  you  were  about  to  depart.  After  you  went,  I 
heard  the  dialogue  which  I hinted  at  in  the  letter, 
between  Teddy  Phats  and  them;  and  knowing 
my  position  and  the  misbegotten  satyrs  by  whom  I 
was  surrounded,  I patiently  awaited  until  they  were 
asleep,  when  I quietly  took  my  departure.” 

Burke  could  not  help  inferring  from  Finigan’s 
manner,  that  he  had  overheard  a greater  portion  of 
their  conversation  on  the  occasion  alluded  to  than 
he  seemed  disposed  to  acknowledge. 

“ Now,  Finigan,”  he  said,  “ I feel  disposed  to 
place  every  confidence  in  you.  Will  you  answer 
candidly  the  question  I am  about  to  propose  to 
you?  Did  you  hear  Bryan  M’Mahon’s  name  men- 
tioned?” 

“ You  say,  Mr.  Hycy,”  replied  Finigan,  emptying 
7 


146 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


liis  glas^,  “ that  you  would  iiithertain  no  apprehen- 
sion in  placing  confidence  in  me  ? ” 

“ Not  the  slightest,”  replied  llycy  ; “ I believe  you 
to  be  the  very  soul  of  honor ; and,  besides,  are  you 
not  my  old  master  ? As  you  say  yourself,  did  I not 
break  grammatical  ground  under  you  ? ” 

“The  soul  of  honor!”  replied  the  pedagogue, 
complacently — “ that  is  excellently  said.  Well,  then, 
Mr.  Burke,  I shall  not  deal  out  my  confidence  by 
beggarly  instalments — I did  hear  Bryan  M’Mahon’s 
name  mentioned  ; and  I heard  a plan  alluded  to  be- 
tween you  and  them  for  reducing  him  to — ” 

“That  was  all  humbug,  Finigan,  so  far  as  I am 
concerned;  but  for  the  present  I am  obliged  to  let 
them  suppose  what  you  allude  to,  in  order  to  keep 
them  honest  to  myself  if  I can.  You  know  they 
have  a kind  of  hereditary  hatred  against  the  M’Ma- 
hons ; and  if  I did  not  allow  them  to  take  their  own 
way  in  this,  I don’t  think  I could  depend  on  them.” 
“Well,  there  is  raison  in  that  too,”  replied  Finigan. 
“ I am  sure,  Finigan,”  proceeded  Hycy,  “ that  you 
are  too  honorable  a man  to  breathe  either  to  Bryan 
M’Mahon  or  any  one  else,  a single  syllable  of  the 
conversation  which  you  overheard  merely  by  acci- 
dent. I say  I am  certain  you  will  never  let  it  trans- 
pire either  by  word  of  mouth  or  writing.  In  me 
you  may  always  calculate  on  finding  a sincere  friend ; 
and  of  this  let  me  assure  you,  that  your  drink,  if 
everything  goes  right  with  us,  won’t  cost  you  much 
— much ! not  a penny  ; if  you  had  two  throats  in- 
stead of  one — as  many  necks  as  Hydra,  we  should 
supply  them  all.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


147 


“ Give  me  your  lian(l,Mr.  Ilycy — you  are  agintle- 
man,  and  I always  said  would  be  one— I did,  sir — I 
pr<'gnoslicaied  as  much  years  ago;  aiid  sincerely 
fcdiciious  am  I tliat  rny  prognostications  iiave  been 
verified  for  so  far.  I said  you  would  rise — that  ex:- 
aliaiion  was  before  you— and  that  your  friends  inight 
not  feel  at  all  surprised  at  the  elevated  position  in 
which  you  will  die.  Propiao  tibi^  again — and  do 
not  fear  that  ever  revelation  of  mine  shall  facilitate 
any  catastrophe  that  may  await  you.” 

llycy  looked  keenly  into  the  schoolmaster’s  fice 
as  he  uttered  the  last  observations ; but  in  the 
maiKllin  and  collapsed  features  then  before  him  he 
could  read  nothing  that  intimated  the  sagacity  of  a 
double  meaning.  This  satisfied  i)im  ; and  after  once 
more  exacting  from  Finigan,  a pledge  of  what  he 
termed  honorable  confidence,  he  took  his  departure. 


148 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAOARRA. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A LITTLE  POLITICS,  MUCH  FRIENDSHIP,  AND  SOME 
MYSTEEY. 

This  coramuTiication  determined  Hycy  to  forego 
his  intention  for  the  present,  and  he  consequently 
allowed  the  summer  and  autumn  to  pass  without 
keeping  up  much  intercourse  with  either  Teddy 
Phats  or  the  Hogans.  Tlie  truth  is,  that  Burke,  al- 
though apparently  frank  and  candid,  was  constitu- 
tionally cautious,  and  inclined  a good  deal  to  suspi- 
cion. He  feared  that  no  project,  the  knowledge  of 
which  was  held  in  common  with  Finigan,  could  be 
long  kept  a secret;  and  for  this  reason  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  postpone  the  matter,  and  allow  it  to  die 
away  out  of  the  schoolmaster's  mind  ere  lie  bestowed 
any  further  attention  upon  it.  In  the  mean  time, 
tlie  state  of  tlie  country  was  gradually  assuming  a 
worse  and  more  depressing  character.  The  season 
was  unfavorable;  and  although  we  do  not  assert 
that  many  died  of  immediate  faudne,  yet  we  know 
that  hundreds — nay,  thousands — died  Irorn  the  con- 
sequence of  scarcity  and  destitution — or,  in  plainer 
words,  from  fever  and  other  diseases  induced  by  bad 
and  insufficient  food,  and  an  absence  of  the  necessary 
cornforls  of  life.  Indee<1,  at  the  period  of  our  narra- 
tive, tlie  position  of  Ireland  was  very  gloomy  ; but 
when  we  may  ask,  has  it  been  otherwise,  within  the 
memory  ol  man,  or  the  records  of  history  ? Placed 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


149 


as  the  country  was,  emigration  went  forward  on  an  ' 
extensive  scale, — emigration,  too,  of  that  peculiar 
description  which  every  day  enfeebles  ainl  im- 
poverishes the  country,  by  depriving  her  of  all  tliat 
approaches  to  anything  bke  a comfortable  and  inde- 
])endent  yeomanry.  This,  indeed,  is  a kind  of  de- 
pletion which  no  country  can  bear  long;  and,  as  it 
is,  at  the  moment  we  are  writing  this,  progressing 
at  a rate  beyond  all  precedent,  it  will  not,  we  trust, 
be  altogether  uninteresting  to  inquire  into  some  of 
the  causes  that  liave  occasioned  it.  Let  not  our 
readers  apprehend,  however,  that  we  are  about  to 
turn  our  liciiiious  narrative  into  a dissertation  on  po- 
litical economy. 

Of  course,  the  principal  cause  of  emigration  is  the 
poverty  and  depressed  state  of  the  country;  and  it 
follows  naturally,  that  whatever  occasions  our 
poverty  will  necessarily  occasion  emigration.  The 
first  cause  of  our  poverty  then,  is  Absenteeism, 
which,  by  drawing  six  or  seven  millions  out  of  the 
country,  deprives  our  people  of  employment  and 
means  of  li(e  to  that  amount.  The  next  is  the  gene- 
ral inattention  of  Irish  landlords  to  the  state  and 
condition  of  their  own  property,  and  an  inexcusable 
want  of  sympathy  with  their  tenantry,  which,  in- 
deed, is  only  a corollary  from  the  former;  for  it  can 
liardly  be  expected  that  those  who  wilfully  neglect 
themselves  will  f el  a w^arm  interest  in  others.  The 
next  is  the  evil  of  sub-letting,  by  which  property  be- 
comes overloadfd  with  human  beinor'i,  who,  for  the 
most  part,  are  bound  by  no  ties  wiiatsoever  to  the 
owner  of  the  soil.  He  is  not  their  landlord,  nor  are 


150 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


they  his  tenants;  and  so  far  from  their  interests  be- 
ing in  any  way  reciprocal,  they  are  actually  adversa- 
tive. It  is  his  interest  to  have  them  removed,  and, 
as  circumstances  unfortunately  stand  it  is  theirs  to 
remain,  inasmuch  as  their  alternative  is  ruin  since 
they  have  no  plane  of  shelter  to  receive  them. 

Political  coiTuplion,  in  the  shape  of  the  forty-shil- 
ling franchise,  was  another  cause,  and  one  of  the 
very  worst,  which  led  to  the  prostration  of  the  coun- 
try by  poverty  and  moral  degradation,  and  for  this 
the  proprietors  of  the  soil  are  solely  responsible. 
Nor  can  the  use  of  the  potato,  as  the  staple  food  of 
the  laboring  classes,  in  connexion  with  the  truck 
system,  and  the  consequent  absence  of  money  pay- 
ments, ill  addition  to  the  necessary  ignorance  of 
domestic ancpsocial  comforts  that  resulted  from  them, 
be  left  out  of  this  wretched  catalogue  of  our  grie- 
vances. Another  cause  of  emigration  is  to  be  found 
in  the  liigh  and  exorbitant  rents  at  which  land  is 
held  by  all  classes  of  farmers — with  some  exceptions 
we  admit,  as  in  the  case  of  old  leases — but  especially 
by  those  who  hold  under  middlemen,  or  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  sub-letting  generally.  By  this  system  a 
vast  deal  of  distress  and  petty  but  most  harrassing 
oppression  is  every  day  in  active  operation  upon  the 
property  of  the  liead  landlord,  wdiich  he  can  never 
know,  and  for  which  he  is  in  no  other  way  responsi- 
ble unless  by  having  ever  permitted  the  existence 
of  it,  for  any  purpose  whatsoever. 

In  a country  distracted  like  Ireland,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  omit  the  existence  of  political  and  re- 
ligious animosity  as  a strong  and  prominent  cause 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


151 


of  our  wretched  poverty,  and  consequently  of  emi- 
gration, The  priest,  instead  of  leaving  temporal 
alfairs  to  temporal  men,  most  improperly  mingles 
himself  in  the  angry  turmoils  of  politics,  to  whicli 
by  liis  inteifeieiice  he  communicates  a peculiar  and 
characteristic  bitterness.  Ti»e  landlord,  on  the  other 
hand,  having  his  own  interests  to  consult,  does  not; 
wish  to  arm  a political  opponent  with  such  powers 
as  he  knows  will  most  assuredly  be  turned  against 
himself,  and  consequently  often  refuses  to  grant  a 
lease  unless  to  those  who  will  pledge  themselves  to 
support  him.  This  state  of  things,  involving,  as  it 
does,  much  that  is  wrong  on  both  sides,  is,  has  been, 
and  will  be,  a present  and  permanent  curse  to  the 
country — a curse,  too,  which,  until  there  is  more  of 
liuinanity  and  justice  on  the  one  side,  and  of  educa- 
tion and  liberal  feeling  on  the  other,  is  not  likely  to 
dispppear  from  the  country. 

Though  last,  not  least,  comes  the  unaccountable 
and  guilty  neglect  of  our  legislature  (if  we  can  call 
it  ours)  in  every thirig  that  pertained  to  Irish  inter- 
ests. Thi-5,  together  with  its  almost  necessary  con- 
sequence of  dishonest  agitation  on  the  one  hand, 
and  well  founded  dissatisfaction  on  the  other,  near- 
ly completes  the  series  of  the  causes  which  have 
produced  the  poverty  of  the  country^,  and,  as  a di- 
rect result,  the  emigration  of  all  tl.at  is  most  com- 
fortable, independent,  and  moral  among  us. 

This  poverty,  arising,  a^  it  does,  from  so  many 
causes,  has  propagated  itself  with  a ra})i«lily  which 
is  startling;  f<»r  every  one  knows  that  poverty  is 
proverbially  prolihc.  Any  yet  it  is  a grievous  ano- 


152 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


maly  to  reflect  that  a country  so  far  steeped  in  mis- 
ery and  destitution  as  to  have  nearly  one-half  of  its 
population  in  a state  of  most  pitiable  pauperism, 
possesses  a soil  capable  of  employing  and  maintain- 
ing three  limes  the  number  of  its  inhabitants. 
When  the  causes,  however,  which  we  have  just  enu- 
merated are  seriously  looked  at  and  considered,  wo 
think  its  extraordinary  result  is,  after  all,  so  very 
natural,  that  the  wonder  would  indeed  be  were  the 
state  of  Ireland  otherwise  than  it  is.  As  matters 
stand  at  present,  and  as  they  are  likely  to  continue, 
unless  parliament  shall  interfere  by  a comprehensive 
measure  of  legislation,  we  must  only  re-t  contented 
with  seeing  the  industrious  moral,  and  respectable 
portion  of  our  countrymen  abandoning  the  land  of 
their  birth  and  affections,  and  nothing  but  the  very 
dregs — degraded  alike  by  idleness  and  immorality 
— remaining  behind  to  multiply  and  perpetuate 
their  own  wretchedness  and  degradation. 

It  has  been  often  said,  and  with  great  truth,  that 
no  man  is  more  devotedly  attached  to  his  native 
soil  than  an  Irishman  ; yet  it  may  reasonably  be 
asked,  how  this  pri»iciple  of  attachment  can  be  re- 
conciled with  the  strong  tendency  to  emigration 
which  characterizes  our  people.  We  reply,  that 
the  tendency  in  question  is  a proof  of  the  love  of 
honest  industry,  enterprise,  and  independence,  by 
which  our  countrymen,  when  not  degraded  by  ne- 
glect and  poverty,  are  actuated.  It  is  not  of  this 
class,  however,  so  degraded  that  we  now  speak.  On 
the  contrary  we  take  the  decent  and  respectable 
farmer  as  the  subject  of  our  illustration — the  man 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


153 


who,  loving  his  native  fields  as  if  they  were  of  his 
blood,  would  almost  os  soon  part  with  the  one  as 
the  other.  This  man  it  is  who,  with  the  most  child- 
like tenderness  of  affection  towards  the  land  on 
which  he  and  his  have  lived  for  centuries,  will 
nevertlieless,  the  moment  he  finds  himself  on  tlie 
decline,  and  with  no  cheering  hope  of  prosperity  or 
encouragement  before  him  or  his  family,  resolutely 
determine  to  forget  everything  but  the  noble  duties 
which  he  owes  to  himself  and  them.  He  sees  clear- 
ly, from  the  unhappy  state  of  the  country,  and  the 
utter  want  of  sympathy  and  attention  which  he  ex- 
periences at  the  hands  of  those  who  ought  to  have 
his  interests  at  heart,  that  if  he  attempt  to  hold  his 
position  under  circumstances  so  depressing  and  un- 
favorable, he  must  gradually  sink,  until  he  and  his 
become  mingled  with  the  great  mass  of  pauperism 
which  lies  like  an  incubus  upon  the  energies  of  the 
country.  What,  therefore,  can  possibly  prove 
more  strongly  than  this  that  the  Irishman  who  is 
not  dragged  into  the  swamp  of  degradation,  in 
which  hope  and  energy  are  paralyzed,  is  strongly 
and  heroically  characterized  by  those  virtues  of  in- 
dustry and  enterprise  that  throw  their  lustre  over 
social  life  ? 

There  are  other  and  still  more  indefensible  causes, 
however,  which  too  frequently  drive  the  independ- 
ent farmer  out  of  the  country.  In  too  many  cases 
it  hajq)ens  that  the  rapacity  and  dishonesty  of  the 
agent,  countenanced  or  stimulated  by  the  necessities 
and  reckless  extravagance  of  the  landlord,  fall,  like 
some  unwholesome  blight,  upon  that  enterprise  and 


154 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


industry  which  would  ultimately,  if  properly  en- 
couraged, make  the  country  prosperous  and  her 
landed  proprietors  independent  men.  We  allude  to 
the  nefarious  and  monstrous  custom  of  ejecting  t(  n- 
ants  who  have  made  improvements,  or,  when  per- 
mitted to  remain,  making  them  pay  for  the  improve- 
ments which  they  have  made.  A vast  propor- 
tion of  this  crying  and  oppressive  evil  must  be 
laid  directly  to  the  charge  of  those  who  fill  the 
responsible  situation  of  agents  to  property  in 
Ireland,  than  whom  in  general  there  does  not 
exist,  a more  unscrupulous,  oppressive,  arrogant,  and 
dishonest  class  of  men.  Exceptions  of  course  there 
are  and  many,  but  speaking  of  them  as  a body,  we 
unhappily  assert  nothing  but  what  the  condition  of 
property,  and  of  those  who  live  upon  it,  do  at  this 
moment  and  have  for  many  a year  testified. 

Several  months  had  now  elapsed,  and  although 
the  M’Mahons  had  waited  upon  the  agent  once  or 
twice  since  the  interview  which  we  have  already 
described  between  him  and  Tom,  yet  there  seemed 
no  corresponding  anxiety  on  the  part  of  Fetherton- 
ge  to  have  the  leases  prepared  or  executed.  This 
neglect  or  reluctance  did  not  occasion  much  uneasi- 
ness to  the  old  man,  who  was  full  of  that  generous 
and  unsuspecting  confidence  that  Ids  countrymen  al- 
ways repose  in  the  promise  of  a landlord  respecting 
a lease,  which  they  look  upon,  or  did  at  least,  as 
something  absolutely  inviolable  and  sacred,  as  in- 
deed it  ought  to  be.  Bryan,  however,  who  although 
a young  man,  was  not  destitute  of  eitlier  observa- 
tion or  the  experience  which  it  bestows,  and  who 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


155 


moreover,  had  no  disposition  to  place  unlimited 
confidence  in  Felliertonge,  began  to  entertain 
some  vague  suspicions  with  reference  to  the  dela3\ 
Feihertunge,  however,  had  not  the  reputation  of 
being  a harsh  man,  or  particularly  unjust  in  his 
dealings  with  the  world  ; on  the  contrary,  he  was 
ratiier  liked  than  otherwise ; for  so  soft  was  the  me- 
lody of  his  voice,  and  so  irresistible  the  friendship 
and  urbanity  of  ids  manner,  that  many  persons  felt 
as  much  gratified  by  the  refusal  of  a favor  from  him 
as  they  did  at  its  being  granted  by  another.  At 
length,  towards  the  close  of  October,  Bryan  himself 
told  his  father  that  he  would  call  upon  the  agent 
and  urge  him  to  expedite  the  matter  of  the  leases. 
‘‘  I don’t  know  liow  it  is,”  said  he,  but  some  way 
or  other  I don’t  feel  comfortable  about  this  business: 
Fethertongue  is  very  civil  and  very  dacent,  and  is 
well  spoken  of  in  general;  but  for  all  that  there’s 
always  a man  here  an’  there  that  says  he’s  not  to  be 
depended  on.” 

Troth  an’  he  is  to  be  depended  on,”  said  his 
generous  father;  “ ids  words  isn’t  like  the  words  of 
a desaver,  and  it  isn’t  till  he  shows  the  cloven  foot 
tijat  ril  ever  give  in  that  he’s  dishonest.” 

‘‘Well,”  said  Bryan,  “I’rn  sure  I for  one  hope 
you  may  be  right ; but,  at  any  rate,  as  he’s  at  home 
now  I’ll  start  and  see  him.” 

“Do  tiien,”  said  his  father,  “ bekaise  I know 
you’re  a favorite  of  his;  for  he  tould  me  so  wid  his 
own  lips.” 

“Well,”  replied  the  other,  laughing,  “I  hope 
you’re  right  there  too ; I’m  sure  I have  no  objec- 


156 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


tion;”  and  he  accordingly  set  out  to  see  Fether- 
tonge,  but  with  something  of  an  impression  that 
the  object  of  his  visit  was  not  likely  to  be  accom- 
plished without  difficulty,  if  accomplished  at  all. 

On  reaching  the  agent’s  house  he  met  a thiij,  tall 
man,  named  Clinton,  with  a hooked  nose  and  sinis- 
ter aspect,  riding  down  the  avenue,  after  having 
paid  Fethertonge  a visit.  This  person  was  the 
gauger  of  the  district,  a bachelor  and  a man  of  con- 
siderable wealth,  got  together,  it  is  suspected,  by 
practices  that  were  not  well  capable  of  bear- 
ing the  light.  Ilis  family  consisted  of  a niece 
and  a nephew,  the  latter  of  whom  had  recently  be- 
come a bosom  friend  of  the  accomplished  II}' cy  Burke, 
who,  it  was  whispered,  began  to  look  upon  Miss 
Clinton  with  a partial  eye.  Ilycyhad  got  acquaint- 
ed with  him  at  the  Herrino:stown  races,  where  he, 
Hycy,  rode  and  won  a considerable  sweepstakes; 
and  as  both  young  gentlemen  were  pretty  much  of 
the  same  habits  of  life,  a very  warm  intimacy  had, 
for  some  time  past,  subsisted  between  them.  Clin- 
ton, to  whom  M'Mahon  was  known,  addressed  him 
in  a friendly  manner,  and,  after  some  chat,  he  laid 
the  point  of  his  whip  gently  upon  Bryan’s  shoulder, 
BO  as  to  engage  his  attention. 

‘‘  M’Mahon,'”  said  he,  I am  glad  I have 
met  you,  and  I trust  our  meeting  will  be  for  your 
good.  You  have  had  a dispute  with  Hycy  Burke?” 

Why,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  siniling,  “if  I had, 
it  wasn’t  such  as  it  was  worth  his  while  to  talk 
about.” 

“Well,  M’Mahon,  that’s  generously  said  on  your 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AH  AD  AURA. 


15T 


part — HOW,  listen  to  me  ; don’t  allow  yourself  to  be 
drawn  into  any  illegal  or  illicit  proceedings  by  any 
one,  friend  or  foe — if  so,  you  will  only  put  yourself 
into  tlie  power  of  your  enemies;  for  enemies  you 
have,  1 can  assure  you.” 

“They  say,  sir,  there  is  no  one  without  them,”  re- 
plied Bryan,  smiling  ; “ but  so  far  as  I am  consarned, 
I don’t  exactly  understand  what  you  mane.  I have 
no  connection  with  anything,  either  illegal  or — or — 
wrong  in  any  way,  Jlr.  Clinton,  and  if  any  onetould 
you  so  they  spoke  an  untruth.” 

“Ay,  ay,”  said  Clinton,  “that  may  be  so,  and  I 
hope  it  is  so ; but  you  know  that  it  could  not  be  ex- 
pected you  would  admit  it,  even  if  it  be  true.  Will 
you,  in  the  mean  time,  be  guided  by  a friend?  I 
respect  your  father  and  his  family;  I respect  your- 
self, M’Mahon  ; and,  consequent!}^,  my  advice  to  you 
is — keep  out  of  the  meshes  of  the  law — avoid  vio- 
lating it — and  remember  you  have  enemies.  Now 
think  of  these  words,  and  so  good-bye,  M’Mahon  ! 
Indeed,  I am  glad  for  your  own  sake  I met  you — 
good-bye ! ” 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words  he  dashed  on  and 
left  Bryan  in  a state  of  perfect  amazement  at  the 
strange  and  incomprehensible  nature  of  the  commu- 
nication he  had  just  received.  Indeed,  so  full  was 
his  mind  of  the  circumstance,  that  forgetting  all  his 
sus|)icions  of  Fethertonge,  and  urged  by  the  ingenu- 
ous impulse  of  an  honest  heart,  he  could  not  prevent 
himself  in  the  surprise  and  agitation  of  the  moment 
from  detailing  the  conversation  which  he  had  just 
had  with  the  guager. 


158 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


“ That  is  singular  enough,”  said  Fethertonge — 
‘‘  he  named  Ilycy  Burke,  then  ? ” 

‘‘  He  did,  sir.” 

‘‘It  is  singular,”  proceeded  the  other,  a^  if  speak- 
ing to  himself;  “in  truth,  my  dear  M’Mahon,  we 
were  talking  about  you — discussing,  in  fact,  the  same 
subject  not  many  minutes  ago ; and  what  you  tell 
me  now  is  only  an  additional  proof  that  Clinton,  who 
is  sometimes  harslily  spoken  of  by  the  way,  is  a 
straightforward,  honest  man.” 

“What  could  he  mane,  sir?”  asked  Bryan,  “I 
never  had  anything  to  do  contrary  to  the  law — I 
haven’t  now,  nor  do  I ever  intend  to  have — ” 

“ Well,  I’m  S'»re  I do  not  know,”  replied  the  agent : 
“ he  made  no  allusion  of  that  kind  to  me,  from  a 
generous  apprehension,  I dare  say,  lest  he  miglit  injure 
you  in  my  opinion.  He  only  desired  me  not  rashly 
to  listen  to  anything  prejudicial  to  your  character; 
for  that  you  had  enemies  who  were  laboring  to  injure 
you  in  some  way — but  how — he  either  would  not 
tell,  or  perhaps  did  not  know.  I am  glad,  however, 
he  mentioned  it ; for  I shall  be  guarded  should  I 
hear  anything  to  your  prejudice.” 

“I  tell  you  beforehand,  sir,”  said  Bryan,  with  the 
conscious  warmth  of  rectitude,  “ and  I think  I ought 
to  know  best,  that  if  you  ever  hear  anything  agaiijst 
my  honesty  or  want  of  principle,  or  if  any  one 
should  say  that  I will  be  consarned  in  what’s  con- 
trary to  either  law  or  justice,  you’ll  hear  a falsehood 
— I don’t-care  who  it  comes  from— and  the  man  who 
tells  y^ou  so  is  a liar.” 

“I  should  be  sorry  to  believe  otherwise,  my  dear 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


159 


Bryan;  it  would  grieve  me  to  be  forced  to  believe 
otherwise.  If  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  drawn  into 
anytiiing  wrong  or  improper,  you  will  be  the  first 
individual  of  your  family  that  ever  brought  a stain 
upon  it.  It  would  grieve  me — deeply  would  it  grieve 
me,  to  witness  such  a blot  upon  so  honest — but  no,  I 
will  not,  for  I cannot,  suppose  it.” 

Bryan,  whose  disposition  was  full  of  good-nature 
and  cheerfulness,  could  not  help  bursting  into  a 
hearty  laugh,  on  revertingto  the  conversation  winch 
he  had  had  with  Clinton,  and  comparing  it  with  that 
in  which  they  were  now  engaged  ; both  of  which 
were  founded  upon  some  soap-bubble  charge  of  which 
he  knew  nothing. 

“You  take  it  lightly,”  said  Fethertonge,  with 
something  of  a serious  expression  ; “ but  remember, 
my  dear  Bryan,  that  I now  speak  as  one  interested 
in,  and,  in  fact,  representing  the  other  members  of 
your  family.  Remember,  at  all  events,  you  are  fore- 
warned, and,  in  the  meantime,  I thank  Clinton — al- 
though I certainly  would  not  have  mentioned  names. 
Bryan,  you  can  have  no  objection  that  I should  speak 
to  your  father  on  tliis  subject?  ” 

“Not  the  slightest,  sir,”  replied  Bryan  ; spake 
to  any  one  you  like  about  it ; but,  putting  that  aside, 
sir,  for  the  present — about  these  leases?  ” 

“ Why,  what  apprehension  have  you  about  them, 
Bryan?” 

“ No  apprehension,  sir,  sartinly  ; but  you  know 
yourself,  Mr.  Fethertonge,  that  to  a man  like  me, 
that’s  lay  in’  out  and  expendin’  money  every  day 
upon  Ahadarra  farm,  and  my  father  the  same  way 


160 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


upon  Carnglass — I Fay,  to  a man  like  me,  to  be  lay  in’ 
out  his  money,  when  you  know  yourselt'  that  if  the 
present  landlord  should  refuse  to  carry  his  father’s 
dyiii’  words  into  effect — or,  as  you  said  this  minute 
yourself,  sir,  if  some  enemy  should  turn  you  against 
me,  aran’t  I and  my  father  and  the  wliole  family 
liable  to  be  put  out,  notwithstanding  all  the  improve- 
ments we’ve  made,  and  the  money  we’ve  spent  in 
makin’  them  ? ” 

“ Bryan,”  said  Fethertonge,  after  a pause,  ‘‘  every 
word  you  say  is  unfortunately  too  true — too  true — 
and  such  things  are  a disgrace  to  the  country;  in 
deed  I believe  they  seldom  occur  in  any  country 
but  this.  Will  it  in  the  meantime  satisfy  you  when 
I state  that,  if  old  Mr.  Ohevydale’s  intentions  are 
not  carried  into  effect  by  his  son,  I shall  forthwith 
resign  my  agency?” 

Bryan’s  conscience,  generous  as  he  was,  notwith- 
standing his  suspicions,  smote  him  deeply  on  hear- 
ing this  determination  so  unequivocally  expressed. 
Indeed  the  wh(de  tenor  of  their  dialogue,  taken  in 
at  one  view — especially  Fethertonge’s  intention  of 
speaking  to  Tom  M’Mahon  upon  the  mysterious 
sub  ject  of  Bryan’s  suspected  delinquencies  against 
the  law — so  thoroughly  satisfied  him  of  the  injus- 
tice he  had  rendered  Fethertonge,  that  he  was  for  a 
time  silent. 

At  length  he  replied — “That,  sir, is  more  than  we 
could  expect ; but  at  any  rate  there’s  one  thing  I’tn 
now  sartin  of — that,  if  we’re  disappointed,  you 
won’t  be  the  cause  of  it.” 

“Yes;  but  of  course  you  must  put  disappoint- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


161 


ment  out  of  the  question.  The  landlord  will,  with- 
out any  doubt,  grant  tl)e  leases — I am  satisfied  of 
• that;  indeed  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it.  By 
the  way,  I am  anxious  to  see  Ahadarra,  and  to  ascer- 
tain the  extent  to  wijich  you  have  cariied  your  im- 
provements. Clinton  and  I will  probably  take  a 
ride  up  there  some  day  soon;  and  in  the  meantime 
do  you  keep  improving,  M’Mahon,  for  that’s  the  se- 
cret of  all  success — leave  the  rest  to  me.  How  is 
your  father  ? ” 

“Never  was  better,  sir,  I’m  thankful  to  you.” 

“ And  your  grandfather?  how  does  he  bear  up  ?” 

“Faitli,  sir,  wonderfully,  considering  his  age.” 

“ He  must  be  very  old  now  ? ” 

“ He’s  ninety-four,  sir,  and  that’s  a long  age  sure 
enough  ; but  I’m  sorry  to  say  that  my  mother’s 
healtli  isn’t  so  well.” 

“Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  her?  I’m  sorry 
to  hear  this.” 

“ Indeed  we  can’t  say;  she’s  very  poorly — her  ap- 
petite is  gone — she  has  a cough,  an’  she  doesn’t  get 
her  rest  at  night.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  get  medical  advice?  ” 

“ So  we  did,  sir.  Dr.  Sexton’s  attendin’  her;  but 
I don’t  think  somehow  that  he  has  a good  opinion 
of  her.” 

“ Sexton’s  a skilful  man,  and  I don't  think  she 
Could  be  in  better  hands;  however,  Bryan,  I shall 
feel  obliged  if  you  will  send  down  occasionally  to 
let  me  know  how  she  gets  on — once  a week  or 
so.” 

“Indeed  we  will,  sir;  an’  I needn’t  say  how  much 


162 


THE  EMIGKANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


we  feel  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  and  good 
wishes.” 

“It  must  be  more  than  good  wishes,  Bryan;  but 
I trust  lhat  she  will  get  better.  In  the  mean  time 
leave  the  other  matters  to  rne,  and  you  may  expect 
Clinton  and  I up  at  your  farm  to  look  some  of  these 
days.” 

“God  forgive  me,”  thought  Bryan,  as  he  left  the 
hall-door,  “for  the  injustice  I did  him,  by  supposin’ 
for  one  minute  that  he  wasn’t  disposed  to  act  fairly 
towards  us.  My  father  was  right ; an’  it  was  fool- 
ish of  me  to  put  my  wit  against  his  age  an’  experi- 
ence. Oh,  no,  that  man’s  honest— there  can’t  be  any 
mistake  about  it.” 

From  this  topic  he  could  not  help  reverting,  as 
lie  pursued  his  way  home,  to  the  hints  he  had  re- 
ceived with  respect  to  Hycy  Burke’s  enmity  towards 
liirn,  the  cause  of  which  he  could  not  clearly  under- 
stand. Ilycy  Burke  had,  in  general,  the  character 
of  being  a generous,  dashing  young  fellow,  with  no 
fault  unless  a disposition  to  gallantry  and  a thought- 
less inclination  for  extravagance;  for  such  were  the 
gentle  terms  in  which  habits  of  seduction  and  an 
unscrupulous  profligacy  in  the  expenditure  of  money, 
were  clothed  by  those  who  at  once  fleeced  and  de- 
spised him,  but  who  were  numerous  enough  to  im- 
press those  opinions  upon  a great  number  of  the 
])eople.  In  turning  over  matters  as  tln-y  stood  be- 
tween them,  he  could  trace  Burke’s  enmity  to  no 
adequate  cause  ; nor  indeed  could  he  believe  it  pos- 
sible that  he  ent<  rtnined  any  such  inveterate  feeling 
of  hostility  against  him.  They  had  of  late  frequently 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


163 


met,  on  which  occasion  Hycy  spoke  to  him  w^ith 
nearly  as  much  cordiality  as  ever.  Still  however 
he  could  not  altosrether  Iree  himself  from  the  con- 

o 

viction,  that  both  Clinton  and  Fethertonge  must 
have  had  unquestionable  grounds  for  the  hints 
which  they  had  in  such  a friendly  way  thrown  out 
to  him. 

In  this  mood  he  was  proceeding  when  he  heard 
the  noise  of  horses’  feet  behind,  and  in  a few  minutes 
Hycy  himself  and  young  Clinton  overtook  him  at  a 
rapid  pace.  Their  conversation  was  friendly  as 
usual,  when  Bryan,  on  seeing  Hycy  about  to  dash 
off  at  the  same  rapid  rate,  said,  ‘‘  If  you’re  not  in  a 
particular  hurry,  Hycy,  I’d  wish  to  have  a word 
wdth  you.” 

Tlje  latter  immediately  pulled  up,  exclaiming,  “ A 
word,  Bryan  ! ay,  a hundred — certainly.  Clinton, 
ride  on  a bit,  will  you?  till  I have  some  conversa- 
tion with  M’Mahon.  Well,  Bryan?” 

“ Hycy,”  proceeded  Bryan,  “ I always  like  to  be 
aboveboard.  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  have 
any  bad  feelirjgs  against  me  ? ” 

“ Will  you  answer  me  another  question?”  replied 
Ilycy. 

“ If  I can  I will,”  said  Bryan. 

‘‘ Well,  then,”  replied  Hycy,  “ I will  answer  you 
most  candidly,  Bryan — not  the  slightest;  but  I do 
assure  you  that  I thought  y^ou  had  such  a feeling 
against  me.” 

“And  you  wor  right,  too,”  returned  Bryan  “for 
I really  had.” 

“ I remember,”  proceeded  Hycy,  “ that  when  I 


164 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


asked  you  to  lend  me  thirty-five  pounds — and  by  the 
way  that  reminds  me  that  I am  still  pretty  deep  in 
your  debt — you  would  neither  lend  it  nor  give  any 
satisfactory  reason  why  you  refused  me  ; now,  what 
occasioned  that  feeling,  Bryan  ? ’’ 

“It’s  by  the  merest  chance  that  I happen  to  have 
the  cause  of  it  in  my  pocket,”  replied  M’Mahon,  who, 
as  he  spoke,  handed  him  the  letter  which  Peety  Dhu 
had  delivered  to  him  from  Hycy  himself.  “Read 
that,”  said  he,  “ and  I think  you’ll  have  no  great 
trouble  in  understanding  why  I felt  as  I did; — an’ 
indeed,  Hycy,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I never  had  the 
same  opinion  of  you  since.”  Hycy,  to  his  utter 
amazement,  read  as  follows  : 

“ My  Dear  Miss  Cavan agh  : — 

“ Will  you  permit  little  Cupid,  the  god  of  Love, 
to  enrol  the  name  of  Hycy  Burke  on  the  long  list  of 
your  adorers?  And  if  you  could  corrupt  the  little 
stone  blind  divinity  to  blot  out  every  name  on  it 
but  my  own,  I should  think  that  a very  handsome 
anticipation  of  the  joys  of  Paradise  could  be  realized 
by  that  delightful  fact.  I say  anticipation — for  ray 
creed  is,  that  the  actual  joys  of  Paradise  exist  no- 
where but  within  the  celestial  circle  of  your  am- 
brosial arms.  That  is  the  Paradise  which  I propose 
to  win;  and  you  may  rest  assured  that  I shall  bring 
the  most  flaming  zeal,  the  most  fervent  devotion, 
and  all  the  genuine  piety  of  a true  worshipper,  to  the 
task  of  attaining  it.  I shall  carry,  for  instance,  a 
little  Bible  of  Love  in  my  pocket — for  I am  already 
a divinity  student  or  a young  collegian  under  little 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


165 


Cupid  aforesaid — and  I will  have  it  all  dog-eared 
with  refreshing  texts  for  my  edification.  I should 
stale,  however,  that  I am,  as  every  good  Christian 
is,  awfully  exclusive  in  my  creed  ; and  will  suller  no 
on-‘,  if  I can  prevent  it,  to  approach  the  Paradise  I 
speak  of  but  myself.  In  fact  I am  as  jealous  as  the 
very  Deuce — whoever  that  personage  may  be — quite 
an  Otliello  in  my  way — a perfect  raw-head-and- 
bloody-bones — with  a sharp  appetite  and  teeth  like  a 
Walrus,  ready  to  bolt  my  rivals  in  dozens.  It  is 
said,  my  divine  creature,  or  rather  it  is  hinted,  that 
a certain  clodhopping  boor,  from  the  congenial  wilds 
of  Ahadarra,  is  favored  by  some  benignant  glances 
from  those  ligiits  of  yours  that  do  mislead  the  moon. 
I hope  this  is  not  so — bow  wow  ! — ho,  ho! — I smell 
the  blood  of  a rival ; and  be  he  great  or  small,  red  or 
black,  or  of  any  color  in  the  rainbow,  I shall  have 
l)im  for  my  breakfast — ho  ! ho  ! You  see  now,  my 
most  divine  Kathleen,  what  a terrible  animal  to  all 
rivals  and  competitors  for  your  affections  I shall  be  ; 
and  that  if  it  were  only  for  their  own  sakes,  and  to 
prevent  carnage  and  cannibalism,  it  will  be  well  for 
you  to  banish  them  once  and  for  ever,  and  be  con- 
tent only  with  myself. 

‘•Seriously,  my  dear  Kathleen,  I believe  I am  half 
crazed  ; and,  if  so,  you  are  the  sole  cause  of  it.  I 
can  think  of  no  other  object  than  your  beautiful 
self;  and  I need  scarcely  say,  that  I shall  have 
neither  peace  nor  happiness  unless  I shall  be  fortun- 
ate enough  to  gain  a place  in  your  tender  bosom. 
As  for  the  Ahadan  a man,  I am  surprised  you  should 
think  of  such  an  ignorant  clodhopper — a fellow 


166 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


whose  place  Providence  specially  allotted  to  be  be- 
tween the  stilts  of  a plough,  and  at  the  tail  of  a pair 
of  horses.  Perhaps  you  would  be  kind  enougli  to 
take  a walk  on  Thursday  evening,  somewhere  near 
the  river — where  I hope  I shall  have  an  opportunity 
of  declaring  my  affection  for  you  in  person.  At  all 
events  I shall  be  there  with  the  ardent  expectation 
of  meeting  you. 

“Ever  your  devoted  worshipper, 

“IIycy  Burke. 

‘‘P.S. — Beware  the  clodhopper  — bow  wow! — 
ho  ! ho  ! ” 

On  looking  at  the  back  of  this  singular  produc- 
tion he  was  thunderstruck  to  perceive  that  it  was 
addressed  to  “Mr.  Bryan M’Mahon,  Ahadarra  ” — the 
fact  being  that,  in  the  liurry  of  the  moment,  he  had 
misdirected  the  letters — Bryan  M’Mahon  having  re- 
ceived that  which  had  been  intended  for  Kathleen, 
who,  on  the  contrary,  was  pressing! y solicited  to 
lend  him  thirty-five  j)ounds  in  order  to  secure 
“ Crazy  Jane.” 

Having  perused  this  precious  production,  Hycy, 
in  spite  of  liis  chagrin,  was  not  able  to  control  a 
most  irresistible  fit  of  laughter,  in  which  he  indulged 
for  some  minutes.  The  mistake  being  now  discov- 
ered in  Bryan’s  case  was  necessarily  discovered  in 
that  of  both,  a circumstance  which  to  Hycy,  who 
now  fully  understood  the  nature  and  conse(]uences 
of  his  blunder,  was,  as  we  have  stated,  the  subject 
of  extraordinary  mirth,  in  which,  to  tell  the  truth, 
Bryan  could  not  prevent  himself  from  joining  him. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


16t 


“ Well,  but  after  all,  Bryan,”  said  he,  “ what  is 
there  in  this  letter  to  make  you  angry  with  me? 
Don’t  you  see  it’s  a piece  of  humbug  from  beginning 
to  end.” 

“I  do,  and  I did,”  replied  Bryan;  “ but  at  that 
time  I had  never  spoken  upon  the  subject  of  love  or 
marriage  to  Katlileen  Cavanagh,  and  I had  no  au- 
thority nor  right  to  take  any  one  to  task  on  her 
account,  but,  at  the  same  time,  I couldn’t  even  then 
either  like  or  respect,  mucli  less  lend  money  to,  any 
man  that  could  humbug  her,  or  treat  such  a girl 
with  disrespect — and  in  that  letther  you  can’t  deny 
that  you  did  both.” 

‘‘  I grant,”  said  Hycy,  “that  it  was  a piece  of  hum- 
bug certainly,  but  not  intended  to  offend  her.” 

“I’m  afraid  there  was  more  in  it,  Hycy,” observed 
Bryan  ; “ an’  that  if  she  had  been  foolish  or  inex- 
perienced enough  to  meet  you  or  listen  to  your  dis- 
course, it  might  a’  been  worse  for  herself.  You 
were  mistaken  there  though.” 

“She  is  not  a girl  to  be  humbugged,  I grant, 
Bryan — very  far  from  it,  indeed  ; and  now  that  you 
and  she  understand  each  other  I will  go  farther  for 
both  your  sakes,  and  say,  that  I regret  having 
written  such  a letter  to  such  an  admirable  young 
woman  as  she  is.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Bryan, 
I shall  half  envy  you  the  possession  of  such  a 
wife.” 

“As  to  that,”  replied  the  other,  smiling,  “ we’ll 
keep  never  minding — but  you  have  spoken  fairly  and 
honestly  on  the  subject  of  the  letther,  an’  I’m  thank- 
ful to  you;  still,  Hycy,  you  haven’t  answered  my 


168 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


first  question  — liave  y()U  any  ill  feeling  against  me, 
or  any  intention  to  injui*e  me  ? ” 

“Neither  one  nor  the  other.  I pledge  you  rny 
honor  and  word  I have  no  ill  feeling  against  you, 
nor  any  design  to  injure  you.” 

“Tliat’s  enough,  Hycy,”  replied  his  companion  ; “I 
think  I’m  bound  to  believe  your  words.” 

“You  are^  Bryan  ; but  will  you  allow  me  to  ask 
if  any  one  ever  told  you  that  I had — and  if  so,  who 
was  the  person  ?” 

“It’s  enough  for  you  to  know,”  said  Bryan,  “that 
whoever  told  it  to  me  I don’t  believe  it.” 

“ I certainly  liave  a right  to  know,”  returned 
Hycy  ; “ but  as  the  matter  is  false,  and  every  way 
unfoun(]ed,  I’ll  not  press  you  upon  it — all  I can  say 
to  satisfy  you  is,  what  I have  said  already — that  I 
entertain  no  ill  will  or  unfriendly  feeling  towards 
you,  and,  consequently,  can  have  no  eartidy  inten- 
tion of  doing  you  an  injury  even  if  I could,  although 
at  the  present  moment  I don’t  see  how,  even  if  I was 
willing.” 

“ You  have  nothing  particular  that  you’d  wish  to 
say  to  me  ? ” 

“ No  : devil  a syllable.” 

“Nor  a proposal  of  any  kind  to  make  me  ? 

Hycy  pulled  up  his  horse. 

“ Bryan,  my  good  friend,  let  me  look  at  you,”  he 
exclaimed.  “ Is  it  right  to  have  you  at  large?  My 
word  and  honor  I’lii  beginning  to  fear  that  there’s 
something  wrong  with  your  upper  works.” 

“Never  mind,”  replied  Bryan,  laughing,  “I’m 
satisfied — the  thing’s  a mistake — so  there’s  my  hand 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


169 


to  yon,  Tlycy.  IVe  no  suspicion  of  the  kind  against 
you  and  it’s  all  rigiit.” 

“ Wliat  proposal,  in  heaven’s  name,  could  I have 
to  make  to  you?”  exclaimed  Hycy. 

‘‘There  now,”  continued  Bryan,  “that’ll  do; 
didn’t  I say  I was  satisfied?  Move  on,  now  and 
overtake  your  friend — by  the  way  he’s  a fine  horse- 
man, they  say  ?” 

“ Very  few  better,”  said  Hycy  ; “ but  some  there 
are — and  07ie  I know — ha!  ha!  ha!  Good-bye, 
Bryan,  and  don’t  be  made  a fool  of  for  noth- 
ing.” 

Bryan  nodded  and  laughed,  and  Hycy  dashed  on 
to  overtake  his  friend  Clinton. 

M’Mahon’s  way  home  lay  by  Gerald  Cavan agh’s 
house,  near  which  as  he  approached  he  saw  Nanny 
Peety  in  close  conversation  with  Kate  Hogan.  The 
circumstance,  knowing  their  relationship  as  he  did, 
made  no  impression  whatsoever  upon  him,  nor  would 
he  have  bestowed  a thought  upon  it,  had  he  been 
left  to  his  own  will  in  the  matter.  Tlie  women  sep- 
erated  ere  he  had  come  within  three  hundred  yards 
of  them;  Kate,  who  had  evidently  been  c >nvoying 
her  niece  a part  of  the  way,  having  returned  in  the 
direction  of  Cavanagh’s,  leaving  Nanny  to  pursue 
her  journey  home,  by  which  she  necessarily  met 
M’Mahon. 

“ Well,  Nanny,”  said  the  1 itter,  “ how  are  you  ? ” 

“Faix,  very  well,  I thank  you,  Bryan  • how  are 
all  the  family  in  Can  iglass  ? ” 

“Barring  my  mother,  they’re  all  well,  Nanny.  I 
was  glad  to  hear  you  got  so  good  a place,  an’  I’m 
8 


170 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


still  betther  plaised  to  see  you  look  so  well — for  it’s 
a proof  that  you  feel  comfortable  in  it.” 

“Why  I can’t  complain,”  she  replied  ; “but  you 
know  there’s  no  one  widout  their  throubles.” 

“Troubles,  Nanny,”  said  Bryan,  with  surprise; 
“ why  surely,  Nanny,  barrin’  it’s  love,  I don’t  see 
what  trouble  you  can  have.” 

“ Well,  and  may  be  it  is,”  said  the  girl,  smil- 
ing. 

“ Oh,  in  that  case,” replied  Bryan,  “I  grant  you’re 
to  be  pitied ; poor  thing,  you  look  so  ill  and  pale 
upon  it,  too.  An’  what  is  it  like,”  Nanny — this  same 
love  that’s  on  you  ? ” 

“ Faig,”  she  replied,  archly,  “ it’s  well  for  you  that 
Miss  Kathleen’s  not  to  the  fore  or  you  daren’t  ax 
any  one  sich  a question  as  thaV^ 

“ Well  done,  Nanny,”  he  returned ; “ do  you  think 
she  knows  what  it’s  like  ?” 

“ It’s  not  me,”  she  repiied  again,  “ you  ought  to 
be  axin’  sich  a question  from ; if  you  don’t  know  it 
I dunna  who  ought.” 

“Begad,  you’re  sharp  an’  ready,  Nanny,”  replied 
Bryan,  laughing;  “well,  and  how  are  you  all  in 
honest  Jemmy  Burke’s  ?” 

“ Some  of  us  good,  some  of  us  bad,  and  some  of 
us  indifferent,  but,  thank  goodness,  all  in  the  best  o’ 
health.” 

“ Good,  bad,  and  indifferent,”  replied  Bryan,  paus- 
ing a little.  “Well,  now,  Nanny,  if  one  was  to  ask 
you  who  is  the  good  in  your  family,  what  would  you 
say  ? ” 

“ Of  ccorse  myself,”  she  returned ; “ an’  stay — let 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


171 


me  see — ay,  the  masthcr,  honest  Jemmy,  he  and  I 
have  tlie  goodness  between  ns.” 

“And  wlio’s  ihe  indifferent,  Nanny?” 

‘ Wait,”  she  replied  ; **  yes — no  doubt  of  it — if 
not  worse — why  the  mistress  must  come  in  for  that, 
I think.” 

“ And  now  for  tlie  bad,  Nanny  ? ” 

She  shook  lier  head  before  she  spoke.  “Ah,”  she 
proceeded,  “ there  would  be  more  in  that  house  on 
the  bad  list  than  there  is,  if  he  had  his  way.” 

“ If  who  had  his  way  ? ” 

“ jMasther  Ilycy.” 

“ Wiiy  is  he  the  had  among  you?” 

“ Thank*  God  I know  him  now,”  she  replied,  “ an’ 
lie  knows  I do;  but  he  doesn’t  know  how  well  I 
know  him.” 

“ Why,  Nanny,  are  you  in  airnest  ?”  asked  Bryan, 
a good  deal  surprised,  and  not  a little  interested  at 
what  he  heard,  “ surely  I tiiought  Mr.  Ilycy  a good- 
liea'ted  generous  young  fellow  that  one  could  de- 
pend upon,  at  all  events?” 

“Ah,  it’s  little  you  know  him,”  she  replied;  “and 
I could” — she  looked  at  him,  and  paused. 

“You  could  whiit?”  he  asked. 

“I  could  tell  you  something,  but  I daren’t.” 

“ Daren’t ; why  what  ought  you  be  afraid  of?” 

“ It’s  no  matther,  I darn’t  an’  that’s  enough  ; only 
aren’t  you  an’  Kathleen  Cavanagh  goiu’  to  be  mar- 
ried ? ” 

“We  will  be  married,  I hope.” 

Well,  then,  keep  a shar[)  look-out,  an’  take  care 
her  father  an’  mother  doesn’t  turn  against  you  some 


172 


THE  EMIG  HANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


o’  these  days.  There’s  many  a slip  between  the 
cup  and  the  lip ; that’s  all  I can  say,  an’  more  than 
I oii2:ht : an’  if  you  ever  mention  my  name,  its  niurd- 
hered  I’ll  be.” 

“An’  how  is  Hycy  consarned  in  this?  or  is  he 
consarned  in  it  ?” 

“ He  is,  an’ he  is  not ; I dursn’t  tell  you  more; 
but  I’m  not  afraid  of  him^  so  far  from  that,  I could 
soon — but  wliat  am  I sayin?  Good-bye,  an’  as  I 
said,  keep  a sharp  look-out and  having  uttered 
these  words,  she  tripped  on  hastily  and  left  him  ex- 
ceedingly surprised  at  what  she  had  said. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


173 


CHAPTER  X. 

A FAMILY  DEBATE — MORE  OF  THE  HYCY  CORRESPOND- 
ENCE —HONEST  SPECULATIONS. 

Kathleen's  refusal  to  dance,  at  the  kemp,  with 
Ilycy  Burke,  drew  down  upon  her  the  loud  and  ve- 
hement indignation  of  lier  parents,  both  of  whom 
looked  upon  a matrimonial  alliance  with  the  Burkes 
as  an  oigect  exceedingly  desirable,  and  such  as  would 
reflect  considerable  credit  on  tliemselves.  Gerald 
Cavanagh  and  his  wife  were  certainly  persons  of  the 
strictest  integrity  and  virtue.  Kind,  charitable, 
overflowing  with  hospitality,  and  remarkable  for 
the  domestic  virtues  and  affections  in  an  extraordi- 
nary degree,  they  were,  notwithstanding,  extremely 
weak-minded,  and  almost  silly,  in  consequence  of 
an  over-weening  anxiety  to  procure  ‘‘great  matches” 
for  their  children.  Indeed  it  may  be  observed,  that 
natural  affection  frequently  assumes  this  shape  in 
the  paternal  heart,  nor  is  the  vain  ambition  confin- 
ed to  the  Irish  peasant  alone.  On  the  contrary,  it 
may  be  seen  as  frequently,  if  not  more  so,  in  the 
middle  and  liigher  classes,  where  it  has  ampler  scope 
to  work,  than  in  humbler  and  more  virtuous  life.  It 
is  til  is  proud  and  lidiculous  principle  which  con- 
signs youth,  and  beauty,  and  innocence,  to  the  arms 
of  some  dissipated  profligate  of  rank,  merely  because 
he  happens  to  inherit  a title  which  he  disgraces. 
There  is,  we  would  wager,  scarcely  an  individual 


174 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


who  knows  the  world,  but  is  acquainted  with  some 
family  laboring  under  this  insane  anxiety  for  con- 
nexion. Sometimes  it  is  to  be  found  on  the  paternal 
side,  but,  like  most  of  those  senseless  inconsistencies 
which  entail  little  else  than  ridicule  or  ruin,  and 
sometimes  both,  upon  those  who  are  the  object  of 
them,  it  is,  for  the  most  part,  a female  attribute. 

Such  as  it  is,  however,  our  friend,  Gerald  Cavan- 
agh,  and  his  wife — who,  by  the  way,  bore  the  do- 
mestic sceptre  in  all  matters  of  importance — both 
possessed  it  in  all  its  amplitude  and  vigor.  When 
the  kemp  had  been  broken  up  that  night,  and  the 
famil}^  assembled,  Mrs.  Cavanagh  opened  the  debate 
in  an  oration  of  great  heat  and  bitterness,  but  sadly 
deficient  in  moderation  and  logic.  ^ 

“ What  on  earth  could  you  mane,  Kathleen,”  she 
proceeded,  “to  refuse  dancin’  wid  such  a young  man 
— a gintleman  I ought  to  say — as  Hycy  Burke,  the 
son  of  the  wealthiest  man  in  the  whole  parish,  bar- 
ring the  g<*ntry?  Where  is  the  girl  that  wouldn’t 
bounce  at  him  ? — that  wouldn’t  lave  a single  card 
unturned  to  secure  him?  Won’t  he  have  all  his 
father’s  wealth  ? — won’t  he  have  all  his  land  when 
the  ould  man  dies  ? and  indeed  it’s  he  that  will  live 
in  jinteel  style  when  he  gets  everything  into  his  own 
hands,  as  he  ought  to  do,  an’  not  go  dhramin’  an’ 
dhromin’  about  like  his  ould  father,  without  bein’ 
sartin  whether  he’s  alive  or  not.  He  would  be 
something  for  you,  girl,  something  to  turn  out  wid, 
an’  that  one  could  feel  proud  out  of;  but  indeed, 
Kathleen,  as  for  pride  and  decency,  you  never  had 
as  much  o’  them  as  you  ought,  nor  do  you  hold  your 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


175 


head  as  higli  as  many  another  girl  in  your  place 
would  do.  Deed  and  throth  I’m  vexed  at  you,  and 
asiiamed  of  you,  to  go  for  to  hurt  his  feeliiis  as  you 
did,  widout  either  rhyme  or  raison.” 

“Tiiroth,”  said  her  father,  taking  up  the  argu- 
ment where  she  left  it,  “ I dunna  how  I’ll  look  the 
respectable  young  man  in  the  face  afther  the  way 
you  insulted  him.  Why  on  airth  wouldn’t  you 
dance  wid  him  ?” 

“ Because,  father,  I don’t  like  him.” 

“ An’  why  don’t  you  like  him  ? ” asked  her  mother. 
“Where  is  there  his  aquil  for  either  face  or  figure 
in  the  parish,  or  the  barony  itself?  But  I know  the 
cause  of  it;  you  could  dance  with  Bryan  M’Mahon. 
But  take  this  with  you — sorra  ring  ever  Bryan  M’- 
Mahon will  put  on  you  wid  my  consent  or  your 
father’s,  w^hile  there’s  any  hope  of  Ilycy  Burke  at 
any  rate.” 

Kathleen,  during  this  long  harangue,  sat  smiling 
and  sedate,  turning  her  beautiful  and  brilliant  eyes 
sometimes  upon  one  parent,  sometimes  upon  anoth- 
er, and  occasionally  glancing  with  imperturbable 
sweetness  and  good  nature  at  her  sister  Hanna.  At 
lengtii,  on  getting  an  opportunity  of  speaking,  she 
replied, — 

“ Don’t  ask  me,  mother,  to  give  anything  in  the 
way  of  encouragement  to  Ilycy  Burke  ; don’t  ask 
me,  I entrate  you,  for  God’s  sake — the  tiling’s  im- 
possible, and  I couldn’t  do  it.  I liave  no  wisli  for 
his  father’s  money,  nor  any  w^ish  for  the  poor  gran- 
deur that  you,  mother  dear,  atid  my  father,  seem  to 
set  your  heart  upon.  I don’t  like  Hycy  Burke — I 


ne 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


could  never  like  him  ; and  rather  than  marry  him,  I 
declare  solemnly  to  God,  I would  prefer  going  into 
my  grave.” 

As  she  uttered  the  last  words,  which  she  did  with 
an  earnestness  that  startled  them,  her  fine  features 
became  illuminated,  as  it  were,  with  a serene  and 
brilliant  solemnity  of  expression  that  was  strikingly 
impressive  and  beautiful. 

Why  couldn’t  you  like  him,  now?”  asked  her 
father;  “sure,  as  your  mother  says,  there’s  not 
his  aquil  for  face  or  figure  within  many  a mile  of 
him  ? ” 

“ But  it’s  neither  face  nor  figure  that  I look  to  most, 
father.” 

“ Well,  but  think  of  his  wealth,  and  the  style  he’ll 
live  in,  1 11  go  bail,  when  he  gets  married.” 

“ That  style  maybe  won’t  make  his  wife  happy. 
No,  father,  it’s  neither  face,  nor  figure,  nor  style, 
that  I look  to,  but  truth,  pure  affection,  and  upright 
principle;  now^^,  I know  that  Hycy  Burke  has  nei- 
ther truth,  nor  affection,  nor  principle;  an’  I won- 
dher,  besides,  that  you  could  think  of  my  ever  mar- 
rying a man  that  has  already  destroyed  the  happi- 
ness of  two  innocent  girls,  an  brought  desolation,  an’ 
sorrow,  an’  shame,  upon  two  happy  families.  Do 
you  think  that  I will  ever  become  the  wife  of  a pro- 
fligate? An’  is  it  you,  father,  and  still  more  yon, 
mother,  that’s  a woman,  that  can  urge  me  to  think 
of  joining  my  fate  to  that  of  a man  that  has  neither 
shame  nor  pi  inciple  ? I thought  that  if  you  didn’t 
respect  decency’’  an’  truth,  and  a regard  for  what  is 
right  and  proper,  that,  at  all  events,  you  would  re- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


177 


spect  the  feeliogs  of  your  chiLl  that  was  taught  their 
value. 

I^oth  parents  h it  somewhat  abashed  by  the  force 
of  llie  truth  and  the  evident  superiority  of  ber 
character;  but  in  a minute  or  two  her  worthy  fath- 
er, from  wliose  dogged  obstinacy  she  inlierited  the 
firmness  and  resolution  for  which  she  had  ever  been 
remarkable,  again  returned  to  the  subject. 

If  ITycy  Burke  was  wild. Kathleen,  so  was  many 
a good  man  before  him  ; an’  that’s  no  raison  but  he 
may  turn  out  well  yet,  an’  a credit  to  his  name,  as  I 
haye  no  doubt  he  will.  All  that  he  did  was  only 
folly  an’  imiiscrelion — we  can’t  be  too  hard  or  un- 
charitable upon  our  fellow-craytures.” 

“ No,”  chimed  in  her  mother,  “ we  can’t.  Doesn’t 
all  the  world  know  that  a reformed  rake  makes  a good 
husband? — an’  besides,  didn’t  them  two  liuzzies 
bring  it  on  themselves  ? why  didn’t  they  keep  from 
him  as  they  ought?  The  fault,  in  such  cases,  is 
never  all  on  one  side.” 

Kathleen’s  brow  and  face  and  whole  neck  became 
crimson,  as  her  mother,  in  the  worst  spirit  of  a low 
and  degrading  ambition,  uttered  the  sentiments  we 
have  just  written.  Hanna  had  been  all  tliis  time 
sitting  beside  her,  with  one  arm  on  her  shoulder; 
but  Kathleen,  now  turning  round,  laid  her  face  on 
her  sister’s  bosom,  and,  with  a pressure  that  indicat- 
ed shame  and  bitterness  of  heart,  she  wept.  Hanna 
returned  this  melancholy  and  distressing  caress  in 
tlie  same  mournful  spirit,  and  both  wept  together  in 
silence. 

Gerald  Cavanagh  was  the  first  who  felt  something 


178 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


like  shame  at  tlie  rebuke  conveyed  by  this  tearful 
embrace  of  his  pure-hearted  and  ingenuous  daugh- 
ters, and  he  said,  addressing  liis  wife  : — 

“ We’re  wror»g  to  defend  him,  or  any  one,  for  tlie 
evil  he  has  done,  bekaise  it  can’t  be  defended  ; 
but  in  the  mane  time,  every  day  will  bring  him 
more  sense  an’  experience,  an’  he  w^on’t  repale  this 
work  ; besides,  a wife  w^ould  settle  him  down.” 

“ But,  father,”  said  Hanna,  now  speaking  for  tlie 
first  time,  “ there’s  one  thing  tliat  strikes  me  in 
the  business  you’re  talkin’  about,  an  it’s  this — 
how  do  you  know  w’^hether  Hycy  Burke  has  any 
notion,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  of  marrying  Kath- 
leen ? ” 

“ Why,”  replied  her  mother,  “didn’t  he  write  to 
her  upon  the  subject.” 

. “ Why,  indeed,  mother,  it’s  not  an  easy  thing  to 
answer  that  question,”  replied  Hanna.  “Slie  sar- 
tinly  resaved  a letther  from  liim,  an’  indeed,  I 
think,”  she  added,  her  animated  face  brightening 
into  a smile,  “ that  as  the  boys  is  gone  to  bed  we 
had  as  good  read  it.” 

“ No,  Hanna,  darling,  don’t,”  said  Kathleen — “ I 
beg  you  won’t  read  it.” 

“ Well,  but  I beg  I wdll,”  she  replied  ; “ it’ll  show 
them,  at  any  rate,  w^hat  kind  of  a reformation  is 
likely  to  come  over  him.  I have  it  herein  my  pock- 
et— ay,  this  is  it.  Now,  father,”  she  procet  ded, 
looking  at  the  letter,  “here  is  a letter,  seiit  to  my 
sister — ‘To  Miss  Cavanagh,’  that’s  what’s  on  the 
back  of  it — and  what  do  you  think  Hycy,  the  spor- 
theen,  asks  her  to  do  for  him?” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAERA. 


179 


“Win",  T suppose,”  replied  her  mother,  “to  run 
away  wid  him  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Then  to  give  her  consent  to  marry  him?”  said 
her  father. 

“ Both  out,”  replied  Hanna;  “ no,  indeed,  but  to 
lend  him  live-and- thirty  pounds  to  buy  a mare, 
called  Crazy  Jane,  belonging  to  Tom  Burton,  of  the 
Race  Boad  ! 

“ ‘ My  Dear  Bryan — For  heaven’s  sake,  in  addi- 
tion to  your  other  generosities — for  which  I ac- 
knowledge myself  still  in  your  debt — will  you  lend 
me  thiriy-tive  pounds,  to  secure  a beautiful  mare 
belonging  to  Tom  Burton,  of  the  Race  Road  ? She 
is  a perfect  creature,  and  w ill,  if  I am  not  quick, 
certainly  slip  through  my  fingers.  Jemmy,  the  gen- 
tleman ’ — 

“This  is  what  he  calls  his  father,  you  must  know. 

Jemrny,  the  gentleman,  has  promised  to  stand 
to  me  some  of  these  days,  and  pay  off  all  my  trans- 
gressions, like  a good,  kind-hearted,  soft-headed  old 
Tiojan  as  he  is ; and,  for  this  reason,  I don’t  wish  to 
press  him  now.  The  mare  is  sold  under  peculiar 
circumstances,  otherwise  I could  have  no  chance  of 
her  at  such  a price.  By  the  way,  when  did  you  see 
Katsey  ’ — 

“Ay,  Katsey! — think  of  that,  now — doesn’t  he 
respect  your  daughter  very  much,  father?” 

“‘By  tlie  way,  when  did  you  see  Katsey  Cava- 
nagh  ? — ’ ” 

“ What  is  this  your  readin’  to  me  ? ” asked  her 


180  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

father.  “You  don’t  mean  to  say  that  this  letter  is 
to  Kathleen  ? ” 

“Why,  no;  but  so  much  the  better — one  has  an 
opportunity  now  of  seein’  what  lie  is  made  of.  The 
letter  was  intended  for  Bryan  M’Maljon;  but  he  sent 
it,  by  mistake,  to  Kathleen.  Listen — 

“ ‘ When  did  you  see  Katsey  Cavanagh  ? She  cer- 
tainly is  not  ill-looking,  and  will  originate  you  fa- 
mous mountaineers.  Do,  like  a good  fellow,  stand 
by  me  at  this  pinch,  and  I will  drink  your  Ijealth  and 
Katsey ’s,  and  that  you  may — ’(what’s  this  ?)  ‘col — 
colonize  Ahadarra  with  a race  of  young  Colossuses 
that  the  world  will  wonder  at. 

“‘Ever  thine, 

“ ‘H.  Burke.’ 

“Here’s  more,  though:  listen,  mother,  to  your 
favorite,  that  you  want  to  marry  Kathleen  to  : — 

“ ‘ P.  S.  I will  clear  scores  with  you  for  all  in  the 
course  of  a few  montiis,  and  remember  that, at  your 
marriage,  I must,  with  my  own  hand,  give  you  away 
to  Katsey,  the  fair  Colossa.’ 

The  perusal  of  this  document,  at  least  so  far  as 
they  could  understand  it,  astonished  them  not  a little. 
Until  they  heard  it  read  both  had  been  of  opinion  that 
Ilycy  had  actually  proposed  f )r  Katlileen,  or  at  least 
felt  exceedingly  anxious  for  the  match. 

^ An’  does  he  talk  about  givin’  her  away  to  Bryan 
M’Mahon?  ” asked  her  mother.  “ Sorrow  on  his  im- 
pidenoe  !— *Bryan  M’Mahon  indeed  ! Tiiroth  it’s  not 
upon  his  country  side  of  wild  mountain  that  Kath- 
leen will  go  to  live.  An’  maybe,  too,  she  has  little 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


181 


loss  in  the  same  Hycy,  for,  afther  all,  he’s  but  a skile 
of  a fellow,  an’  a profligate  into  the  bargain.” 

“Faix  an’ his  father,”  said  Gerald — “honest  Jem- 
my— tould  me  that  he’d  have  it  a match  whether  or 
not.” 

“His  father  did!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavanagh; 
“ now,  did  he  say  so,  Gerald  ? ” 

“ Well,  in  troth  he  did — said  that  he  had  set  his 
heart  upon  it,  an’  that  if  she  hadn’t  a gown  to  her 
back  he’d  make  him  marry  her.” 

“ The  Lord  direct  ns  for  the  best ! ” exclaimed  his 
wife,  whose  opinion  of  the  matter  this  last  piece  of 
information  had  again  changed  in  favor  of  ITycy. 
“ Sure,  afther  all,  one  oughtn’t  to  be  too  sevare  on 
so  young  a man.  However,  as  ti»e  sayin’  is,  ‘ time 
will  tell,’  an’  Kathleen’s  own  good  sense  will  show 
her  what  a match  he’d  be.” 

The  sisters  then  retired  to  bed;  but  before  they 
went,  Kathleen  aj^proached  her  mother,  and  piitting 
an  open  palm  affectionately  upon  each  of  the  good 
woman’s  cheeks,  said,  in  a voice  in  which  there  was 
deep  feeling  and  affection  : — 

“ Good-night,  mother  dear ! I’m  sure  you  love 
me,  an’  I know  it  is  because  you  do  that  you  spake 
in  this  way  ; but  I knnw,  too,  that  you  wouldn’t 
make  me  unhappy  and  miserable  for  the  wealth  of 
the  world,  much  less  for  Hycy  Burke’s  share  of  it. 
There’s  a kiss  for  you,  and  good-night  ! — there’s  an- 
other for  you,  fatlier ; God  bless  you  ! and  good-nigh t 
too.  Come,  Hanna,  darling,  come!” 

In  tiiis  state  matters  rested  for  some  time.  Br^^an 
M’Mahon,  however,  soon  got  an  opportunity  of  dis- 


182 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


closing  his  intentions  to  Kathleen,  if  that  can  be 
called  disclosing,  which  was  tolerably  well  known 
for  a considerable  time  previous  to  the  disclosure. 
Between  them  it  was  arranged  that  he  and  his  father 
should  make  a formal  proposal  of  marriage  to  lier 
parents,  as  the  best  means  of  bringing  the  matter 
to  a speedy  issue.  Before  tliis  was  done,  however, 
Gerald,  at  the  instigation  of  his  wife,  contrived  once 
more  to  introduce  the  subject  as  if  by  accident,  in  a 
conversation  with  Jemmy  Burke,  who  repeated  his 
anxiety  for  the  match  as  the  best  way  of  settling 
down  his  son,  and  added,  that  he  would  lay  the 
matter  before  Ilyc}’’  himself,  with  a w^ish  that  a union 
should  take  place  between  them.  Tiiis  interview 
with  old  Burke  proved  a stumbling-block  in  tlie  way 
of  M’Maiion.  At  length  after  a formal  proposal  on 
the  behalf  of  Bryan,  and  many  interviews  with  ref- 
erence to  it,  something  like  a compromise  was  effec- 
ted. Kathleen  consented  to  accept  the  latter  in 
marriage,  but  firmly  and  resolutely  refused  to  hear 
Burke’s  name  as  a lover  or  suitor  mentioned.  Her 
])arents,  however,  hoping  that  their  influence  over 
her  miglit  ultimately  prevail,  requested  that  she 
would  not  engage  herse  f to  any  one  for  two  years, 
at  the  expiration  of  which  period,  if  no  change  in 
her  sentiments  should  take  place,  she  was  to  be  at 
liberty  to  marry  M’Maiion.  For  the  remainder  of  the 
summer  and  autumn,  and  up  until  November,  the 
period  at  which  our  narrative  has  now  arrived  or,  in 
other  words,  when  Bryan  M’Mahon  met  Nanny 
Peety,  matters  had  rested  precisely  in  the  same  po- 
sition. This  unexpected  interview  with  the  mendi- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


183 


cant’s  dangl) ter,  joined  to  the  hints  lie  had  already 
received,  once  more  cau'^ed  M Mahon  to  feel  consid- 
erably perplexed  with  regard  to  llycy  Burke.  Tiie 
coiticidence  was  very  remarkable,  and  the  identity 
of  the  infornialion,  however  limited,  appeared 
to  him  to  deserve  all  the  consideration  which  he 
could  bestow  upon  it,  but  above  all  things  he  re- 
solved if  possible  to  extract  the  secret  out  of  Nanny 
Peety. 

One  cause  of  Ilycy  Burke’s  extravagance  was  a 
hospitable  habit  of  dining  and  giving  dinners  in  the 
head  inn  of  Bally macan.  To  ask  any  of  his  associ- 
ates to  his  father’s  house  was  only  to  expose  tiie 
ignorance  of  his  parents,  and  this  his  pride  would 
not  suffer  him  to  do.  As  a matter  of  course  lie  gave 
all  his  dinners,  unless  upon  rare  occasions,  in  Jack 
Shepherd’s  excellent  inn  ; but  as  young  Clinton  and 
he  were  on  terms  of  the  most  confidential  intimacy, 
he  had  asked  him  to  dine  on  the  day  in  question  at 
his  father’s. 

‘‘You  know,  my  dear  Harry,”  he  said  to  his 
friend,  “ there  is  no  use  in  striving  to  conceal  the 
honest  vulgarity  of  Jemrny  the  gentleman  from  you 
who  know  it  already.  I may  say  ditto  to  madam, 
who  is  unquestionably  the  most  vulgar  of  the  two — 
for,  and  I am  sorry  to  say  it,  in  addition  to  a super- 
abundant stock  of  vulgarity,  she  has  still  a larger 
assortment  of  the  prides ; for  instance,  pride  of 
wealth,  of  the  pur  se,  pr  ide  of — I was  going  to  add, 
birili — ha!  ha!  ha! — of  person,  ay,  of  beauty,  if 
you  please — of  her  large  possessions — but  that 
comes  under  the  purse  again — and  lastly — but  that 


184 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


is  the  only  well-founded  principle  among  them — of 
her  accomplished  son,  Hycy.  This,  now,  being  all 
within  your  cognizance  already,  my  dear  Hal,  you 
take  a pig’s  cheek  and  a fowl  with  me  to-day.  There 
will  be  nobody  but  ourselves,  for  when  I see  com- 
pany at  home  I neither  admit  the  gentleman  nor  the 
lady  to  table.  Damn  it,  you  know  tlie  thing  would 
be  impossible.  If  you  wish  it,  however,  we  sliall 
probably  call  in  the  gentleman  after  dinner  to  have 
a quiz  with  him  ; it  may  relieve  us.  I can  promise 
you  a glass  of  wine,  too,  and  that’s  anotlier  reason 
why  we  should  keep  him  aloof  until  tlie  punch 
comes.  The  wine’s  always  a sub  stlentio  affiir,  and, 
may  heaven  pity  me,  I get  growling  enough  from 
old  Bruin  on  otlier  subjects.” 

“Anything  you  wish,  Ilycy,  I am  your  man  ; but 
somehow  I don’t  relish  the  i lea  of  the  quiz  you 
speak  of.  ‘ Children,  obey  your  parents,’  says  Holy 
Scripture;  and  I’d  as  soon  not  help  a young  fellow 
to  laugh  at  his  father.” 

“ A devilish  good  subject  he  is,  though — but  you 
must  know  that  I can  draw  just  distinctions,  Ilal. 
For  instance,  I respect  his  honesty — ” 

“ And  copy  it  ? eh  ? ” 

“Certainly.  I respect  his  integrity  too — in  fact, 
I appreciate  all  his  good  qualities,  and  only  laugh  at 
his  vulgarity  an  l foibles.” 

“You  intend  to  marry,  Hycy-?” 

“ Or,  in  other  words  to,  call  you  brother  some  of 
these  days.” 

“And  to  liave  sons  and  daughters?  ” 

“Please  the  fates.” 


THE  EMIGKANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


185 


^‘That  will  do,”  replied  Clinton,  dryly. 

“ IIo  ! ho  !”  said  Hycy,  ‘‘  I see.  Here’s  a mentor 
W’ith  a vengeance — a fellow  with  a budget  of  morals 
cut  and  dry  for  immediate  use — but  hang  all  morality, 
say  I ; like  some  of  my  friends  that  talk  on  the  sub- 
ject, I have  an  idiosyncrasy  of  constitu.tion  against 
it,  but  an  abundant  temperament  for  pleasure.” 

“That’s  a good  definition,”  said  Clinton;  “a  mas- 
ter-touch, a very  correct  likeness,  indeed.  I would 
at  once  know  you  from  it,  and  so  would  most  of  your 
friends.”  ^ 

“ This  day  is  Friday,”  said  Ilycy  • “ more  growl- 
ing.” 

“Why  so?” 

“Why,  when  I eat  meat  on  a Friday,  the  pepper 
and  sauce  cost  me  nothing.  The  ‘gentleman’  lays 
on  hard,  but  the  lady  extenuates,  ‘in  regard  to  it’s 
bein’  jinteel.’  ” 

“ Well,  but  you  have  certainly  no  scruple  your- 
self on  the  subject  ? ” 

“Yes,  I have,  sir,  a very  strong  one — in  favor  of 
the  meat— ha!  ha  ! ha  !” 

“ D — n me,  whoever  christened  you  Ilycy  the  ac- 
complished, hit  you  off.” 

“ I did  myself ; because  you  must  know,  my  wor- 
thy Hal,  that,  along  with  all  my  other  accomplish- 
ments, I am  my  own  priest.” 

“ And  that  is  the  reason  why  you  hate  the  clergy  ? 
eh -ha!  ha!  ha  ! ” 

“ A hit,  a hit,  I do  confess.” 

“Harkee,  Mr.  Priest,  will  you  give  absolution — to 
Tom  Corbet  ? ” 


186 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘Ah!  Ilal,  no  more  an’  thou  lovest  me — that  sore 
is  yet  open.  Curse  the  villain.  My  word  and  honor, 
ILil,  ‘ the  gentleman ’ was  right  there.  He  told  me 
at  ihe  first  glance  what  she  was.  Here  comes  a 
shower,  let  us  move  on,  and  reach  Ballymacan,  if 
possible,  before  it  falls.  We  shall  be  home  in  fair 
time  for  dinner  afterwards,  and  then  for  my  pro- 
posal, which,  by  the  word  and  honor — ” 

“ And  morality  ? ” 

Nonsense,  Harry ; is  a man  to  speak  nothing  but 
truth  or  Scripture  in  this  world? — No, — which  I say 
by  the  honor  of  a gentleman,  it  will  be  your  interest 
to  consivler  and  accept.” 

“ Very  well,  most  accomplished.  We  shall  see, 
and  we  shall  hear,  and  then  we  sfiall  determine.” 

A ham  and  turkey  were  substituted  for  the  pig’s 
cheek  and  fowl,  and  we  need  n >t  say  that  Hycy  and 
his  friend  accepted  of  the  substitution  with  great 
complacency.  Dinner  having  been  discussed,  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  finished,  the  punch  came  in,  and  each, 
after  making  himself  a stitf  tumbler,  acknowledged 
that  he  felt  comfortable.  Hycy,  however,  anxious 
that  he  should  make  an  impression,  or  in  other  words 
gain  his  point,  allowed  Clinton  to  grow  a little  warm 
with  liquor  before  he  opened  the  subject  to  which 
))e  had  allmled.  At  length,  when  he  had  reached 
the  proper  elevation,  he  beg?ui  : — 

‘•There's  no  man,  iny  dear  Harry,  speaks  appar- 
ently more  nonsense  than  I do  in  ordinary  chat  and 
conversation.  For  instance,  to-day  I was  very  suc- 
cessful in  it;  but  no  matter,  I hate  seriousness,  cer- 
tainly, when  there  is  no  necessity  for  it.  However, 


THE  EMIGRAllrTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


18T 


as  a set'Off  to  that,  I pledge  you  my  honor  that  no 
man  can  be  more  serious  when  it  is  necessary  tlian 
myself.  For  instance,  you  let  out  a matter  to  me 
the  other  night  tiiat  you  probably  forget  now.  You 
needn’t  stare — I am  serious  enough  and  honorable 
enough  to  keep  as  an  inviolable  secret  everything  of 
the  kind  that  a man  may  happen  to  disclose  in  an 
unguarded  moment.” 

“ Go  on,  Hycy,  I don’t  forget  it — I don’t,  upon 
my  soul.” 

“ I allude  to  M’Mahon’s  farm  in  Ahadarra.” 

“I  don’t  forget  it;  but  you  know  Hycy,  my  boy', 
I didn’t  mention  either  M’Mahon  or  Ahadarra.” 

“You  certainly  did  not  mention  them  exactly; 
but,  do  you  think  I did  not  know  at  once  both  ihe 
place  and  the  party  you  allude  to?  My  word  and 
honor,  I saw  them  at  a glance.” 

“Very  well,  go  on  witii  your  word  and  honor  ; — 
you  are  right,  I did  mean  M’Mahon  and  Ahadarra 
— proceed,  most  accomplished,  and  most  moral — ” 

“Be  quiet,  Harry.  Well,  you  liave  your  eye 
upon  that  farm,  and  you  say  vou  have  a promise 
of  it.” 

“ Something  like  it ; but  the  d — d landlord,  Chevy- 
dale,  is  impracticable — so  my  uncle  says — and 
doesn’t  wish  to  disturb  the  M’Mahons,  although  he 
has  been  shown  that  it  is  his  interest  to  do  so — but 
d — n the  fellow,  neither  he  nor  one  of  Ids  family 
ever  look  to  their  interests — d — n the  fellow,  I 
say.” 

“Don’t  curse  or  swear,  most  moral.  Well,  the 
lease  of  Ahadarra  has  dropped,  and  of  Carriglass 


188 


THE  EHIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


too ; — with  Carriglass,  however,  we — that  is  you — 
have  nothing  at  all  to  do.” 

“ Proceed.” 

‘‘Now,  I have  already  told  you  my  affection  for 
your  sister,  and  I have  not  been  able  to  get  either 
yes  or  no  out  of  you.” 

“ No.” 

‘‘  What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“That  you  have  not  been  able  to  get  yes  or 
no  out  of  me — proceed,  most  accomplished.  Where 
do  you  get  your  brandy  ? This  is  glorious.  Well ! ” 

“ Now,  as  you  have  a scruple  against  taking  the 
farm  in  any  but  a decent  way,  if  I undertake  to 
manage  matters  so  as  that  Bryan  MhMahon  shall  be 
obliged  to  give  up  his  farm,  will  you  support  my 
suit  with  Miss  Clinton  ? ” 

“ How  will  you  do  it  ? ” 

“ That  is  what  you  shall  not  know ; but  the  means 
are  amply  within  my  power.  You  know  my  cir- 
cumstances, and  that  I shall  inherit  all  my  father’s 
property.” 

“ Come  ; I shall  hold  myself  neuter — will  that 
satisfy  you  ? You  shall  have  a clear  stage  and 
no  favor,  which,  if  you  be  a man  of  spirit,  is 
enough.” 

“Yes;  but  it  is  likely  I may  require  your  ad- 
vocacy with  Uncle;  and,  besides,  I know  the  ad- 
vantage of  having  an  absent  friend  well  and 
favorably  spoken  of,  and  all  his  good  points  brouglit 
out.” 

“ Crazy  Jane  and  Tom  Burton,  to  wit ; proceed, 
most  irigenuous  ! ” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  A RR  A. 


189 


‘‘  Curse  tliem  both  ! Will  you  promise  this — to 
support  me  so  far?” 

“Egad,  Ilyc}^  tliat’s  a devilish  pretty  girl  that 
attends  us  with  the  hot  water,  and  that  waited  on 
us  at  dinner — eh  ? ” 

“ Come,  come.  Master  Harry,  ware  spring-guns 
there;  keep  quiet.  You  don’t  answer  ? ” 

“But,  worthy  Hycy,  what  if  Maria  should  re- 
ject you  — discard  you — give  you  to  the  winds? 
—eh?” 

“Even  in  that  case,  provided  you  support  me 
honestly,  I shall  hold  myself  bound  to  keep  my 
engagement  with  you,  and  put  M’Mahon  out  as  a 
beggar.” 

OO 

“ What ! as  a beggar  ? ” 

“Ay,  as  a beggar  ; and  then  no  blame  could  pos- 
sibly attach  to  you  for  succeeding  him,  and  certainly 
no  suspicion.” 

“Hum!  as  a beggar.  But  the  poor  fellow  never 
offended  me.  Confound  it,  he  never  offended  me, 
nor  any  one  else  as  far  as  I know.  I don’t  much 
relish  that,  Ilycy.” 

“It  cannot  be  done  though  in  any  other  way.” 

“I  say — how  do  you  call  that  girl ? — Jenny,  or 
Peggy,  or  Molly,  or  what  ?” 

“ I wish  to  heaven  you  could  be  serious,  Harry. 
If  not,  I shall  drop  the  subject  altogether.” 

“There  now — proceed,  O Hyacinthus.” 

“ How  can  I proceed,  when  you  won’t  pay  atten- 
tion to  me ; or,  what  is  more,  to  your  own  interests  ? ” 

“ Oh ! my  own  interests ! — well  I am  alive  to 
them.” 


190 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Is  it  a bargain,  then  ? ” 

“ It  is  a bargain,  most  ingenuous,  most  subtle,  and 
most  conscientious  Ilycy  ! Enable  me  to  enter  upon 
tlie  farm  of  Ahadarra — to  get  possession  of  it — and 
calculate  upon  my  most — let  me  see — wliai’s  the 
best  word — most  strenuous  advocacy.  That’s  it: 
there’s  my  hand  upon  it.  I shall  support  you  Hycy ; 
but,  at  the  same  lime,  you  must  not  hold  me  ac- 
countable for  my  sister’s  conduct.  Beyond  fair  and 
reasonable  persuasion,  she  must  be  left  perfectly  free 
and  uncontrolled  in  whatever  decision  she  may  come 
to.” 

“Theie’s  my  hand,  then,  Harry;  I can  ask  no 
more.” 

After  Clinton  had  gone,  Hycy,  felt  considerably 
puzzled  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he  had  conducted 
himself  during  the  whole  evening.  Sometimes  he  im- 
agined he  was  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  for  he 
had  drunk  pretty  freely;  and  again  it  struck  him 
that  he  manifested  an  indifference  to  the  proposal 
made  to  him,  which  he  only  attempted  to  conceal 
lest  Hycy  might  perceive  it.  He  thought,  however, 
that  he  observed  a seriousness  in  Clinton,  towards 
the  close  of  their  conversation,  which  could  not  liave 
been  assumed  ; and  as  he  gave  himself  a good  deal 
of  credit  for  penetration,  he  felt  satisfied  that  circum- 
stances were  in  a proper  train,  and  likely,  by  a little 
management,  to  work  out  his  purposes. 

Hycy,  having  bade  him  good  night  at  the  hall- 
door,  returned  again  to  the  parlor,  and  called  Nanny 
Peety — ‘‘ Nanny,”  said  he,  “which  of  the  Hogans 
did  you  see  to-day  ?” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


191 


‘‘None  o’ them,  sir,  barrin’Kate:  they  wor  all 
out.” 

“ DM  you  give  her  the  message  ? ” 

“ Why,  sir,  if  it  can  be  called  a message,  I did.” 

“ AVliat  did  you  say,  now  ? ” 

“ Why,  I tould  her  to  tell  whichever  o’  them  she 
happened  to  see  first,  that  St.  Pether  was  dead.” 

“ And  what  did  she  say  to  tl)at?” 

“ Why,  sir,  she  said  it  would  be  a good  story  for 
you  if  he  was.” 

“ And  what  did  she  mean  by  that,  do  you  think  ? ” 

“Faix,  then,  I dunna — barrin’  that  you’re  in  the 
black  books  wid  him,  and  that  you’d  have  a better 
chance  of  gettin’  in  undher  a stranger  that  didn’t 
know  you.” 

“ Nanny,”  he  replied,  laughing,  “ you  are  certainly 
a very  smart  girl,  and  indeed  a very  pretty  girl — a 
very  interesting  young  woman,  indeed,  Nanny  ; but 
you  won’t  listen  to  reason.” 

“To  raison,  sir.  I’ll  always  listen;  but  not  to 
wickedness  or  evil.” 

“ Will  you  liave  a glass  of  punch  ? I hope  there 
is  neither  wickedness  nor  evil  in  that.” 

“ I’m  afraid,  sir,  that  girls  like  me  have  often  found 
to  their  cost  too  much  of  both  in  it.  Thank  you, 
Masther  Hycy,  but  I won’t  have  it ; you  know  I 
won’t.” 

“So  you  will  stand  in  your  own  light,  Nanny  ?” 

“I  hope  not,  sir;  and,  wanst  for  all,  Mr.  llycy, 
there’s  no  use  in  spakin’  to  me  as  you  do.  I’m  a 
poor  humVde  girl,  an’  has  nothing  but  my  character 
to  look  to.” 


192 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ And  is  tliat  all  you’re  afraid  of,  N'aniiy  ? ” 

I in  afeai’d  of  Almighty  Gt>d,  sir : an’  if  you  had 
a little  fear  of  Him  too,  Mr.  Ilycy,  you  wouldn’t 
spake  to  me  as  you  do.” 

“ Why,  Nanny,  you’re  almost  a saint  on  our 
hands.” 

“ I’m  glad  to  hear  it,  sir,  for  the  sinners  is  plenty- 
enough.” 

“Very  good,  Nanny;  well  said.  Here’s  half-a- 
crown  to  reward  your  wit.” 

“No,  no,  Mr.  Hycy:  I’m  thankful  to  you;  but 
you  know  I won’t  take  it.” 

“ Nanny,  are  you  aware  that  it  was  I who  caused 
you  to  be  taken  into  this  family  ?” 

“ No,  sir;  but  I think  it’s  very  likely  you’ll  be  the 
cause  of  my  going  out  of  it.” 

“It  certainly  is  not  improbable,  Nanny,  I will 
have  no  self-willed,  impracticable  girls  here.” 

“ You  won’t  have  me  liere  long,  then,  unless  you 
mend  your  manners,  Mr.  Ilycy.” 

“Well,  well,  Nanny;  let  us  not  quarrel  at  all 
events.  I will  be  late  out  to-night,  so  that  you  must 
sit  up  and  let  me  in.  No,  no,  Naufiy  ; we  must  not 
quarrel ; and  if  I have  got  fond  of  you,  how  can  I 
help  it?  It’s  a very  natural  thing,  you  know,  to 
love  a pretty  girl.” 

“ But  not  so  natural  to  lave  her,  Mr.  Hycy,  as  you 
have  left  others  before  now — I needn’t  name  them — 
widout  name,  or  fame,  or  hope,  or  happiness  in  this 
world.” 

“I  won’t  be  in  until  late,  Nanny,”  he  replied, 
coolly.  “ Sit  up  for  me.  You’re  a sharp  one,  but  I 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


193 


can’t  spare  you  yet  a wliile  and,  having  nodded  to 
her  with  a reinarkahly  benign  aspect  he  went  out. 

“Ay,”  said  she,  alier  he  liad  gone;  “little  you 
know,  you  liardened  and  lieartless  profligate,  how 
wtdl  Tin  u])  to  y^'ur  schemes.  Little  you  know  that 
I heard  your  bargain  this  evenin’  wid  Clinton,  and 
that  you’re  now  gone  to  meet  the  Hogans  and  Teddy 
Phats  upon  some  dark  business,  that  can’t  be  good 
or  they  wouldn't  be  in  it;  an’  little  you  know  what 
I know  besides.  Anybody  the  misthress plaises  may 
sit  up  for  you,  but  I won’t.” 


9 


194 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DEATH  OF  A VIRTUOUS  MOTHER. 

It  could  not  be  expected  that  Bryan  M’Mahon,on 
Ids  way  home  from  Felhertouge’t»,  would  pass  Gerald 
Cavanagli’s  without  calling.  He  had,  in  his  interview 
with  that  gentleman,  st  ated  the  na?  ure  of  his  mother’s 
illness,  but  at  the  same  time  wiihout  feeling  any 
serious  apprehension  that  her  life  was  in  immediate 
danger.  On  reach  Cavanagh’s,  he  found  that  family 
overshadowed  with  a gloom  fur  which  he  couhl  not 
account.  Katiileen  received  liim  gravely,  and  even 
Hanna  had  not  lier  accustomed  jest.  After  looking 
around  him  for  a little,  he  exclaimed — ‘’Wlnit  is  the 
matther?  Is  an\ thing  wrong?  You  all  luok  as  if 
you  were  in  sorrow.” 

Hanna  approached  him  and  said,  whilst  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears — ‘’We  are  in  sorrow,  Bryan;  for  we 
are  goin’,  we  doubt,  to  lose  a friend  that  we  all  love 
— as  every’  one  diil  that  knevv  her.” 

“ Hanna,  darling,”  sai«l  Kathleen,  “ This  won’t  do. 
Poor  girl!  j’ou  are  likely  to  make  bad  w^orse;  and 
besi<les  t here  may,  after  all,  be  no  real  danger.  Yuur 
mother,  Bryan,”  she  ])roceeded,  “is  much  worse  than 
she  has  been.  The  ])riest  and  doctor  have  been  sent 
fur;  but  you  know  it  doesn’t  folluw  that  there  is 
danger,  or  at  any  rate  that  the  cise  is  hupeless.” 

“Oil,  my  God!”  exclaimed  Bryan,  “ is  it  so  ? My 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


195 


mother — and  such  a raolhorl  Kathleen,  my  heart 
this  minute  tells  me  it  is  hopeless.  1 must  leave 
you — I must  go.” 

“ We  will  go  up  with  you,”  said  Kathleen.  “ Han- 
na, we  will  go  up  ; for,  if  she  is  in  danger,  I would 
like  to  get  the  blessinir  of  such  a woman  before  she 
dies;  but  let  us  trust  in  God  she  won’t  die,  and  that 
it’s  only  a sudden  attack  that  will  pass  away.” 

“Do  so,  Kathleen,”  said  her  motlier ; “and  you 
can  fetch  us  word  liow  she  is.  May  the  Lord  bring 
her  safe  over  it  at  any  rate;  for  surely  the  family 
will  break  their  hearts  afther  her,  an’ no  wondher, 
for  where  was  her  fellow  ? ” 

Bryan  was  not  capable  of  hearing  these  praises 
which  he  knew  to  be  so  well  and  so  justly  her  due, 
with  firmness  ; nor  could  he  prevent  his  tears,  unless 
by  a great  effort,  from  bearing  testimony  to  the 
depth  of  his  grief.  Kathleen’s  gaze,  however,  was 
turned  on  him  with  an  expression  which  gave  liim 
strength;  for  indeed  there  was  something  noble  and 
sustaining  in  the  earnest  and  consoling  sympathy 
w hich  he  read  in  her  dark  and  glorious  eye.  On 
their  way  to  Carriglass  there  was  little  spoken. 
Bryan’s  eye  every  now  and  then  sought  that  of 
Katlileen;  and  he  learned,  for  the  first  time,  that  it 
is  only  in  afilictipn  that  the  exquisite  tenderness  of 
true  and  disinterested  love  can  be  properly  appre- 
ciated and  felt.  Indeed  he  wondered  at  his  own 
sensations;  for  in  proportion  as  his  heart  became 
alarmed  at  the  contemplation  of  his  mother’s  loss,  he 
felt,  whenever  he  looked  upon  Kathleen,  that  it  also 
burned  towards  her  with  greater  tenderness  and 


196  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

power — so  true  is  it  that  sorrow  and  sulFe ring  purify 
and  exalt  all  our  nobler  and  better  emotions. 

Bryan  and  his  companions,  ere  they  had  time  to 
reach  the  house,  were  seen  and  recognized  by  the 
family,  who,  from  the  restlessness  and  uncertainty 
which  illness  usually  occasions,  kept  moving  about 
and  running  out  from  time  to  time  to  watch  the  ar- 
rival of  the  priest  or  doctor.  On  this  occasion  Dora 
came  to  meet  them  ; but,  alas  ! with  what  a differ- 
ent spirit  from  that  which  animated  her  on  the  re- 
turn of  her  father  from  the  metropolis.  Her  gait 
was  now  slow,  her  step  languid  ; and  they  could 
perceive  that,  as  she  approached  them,  she  wiped 
away  the  tears.  Indeed  her  whole  appearance  was 
indicative  of  the  state  of  her  mother;  when  they 
met  her,  her  bitter  sobbing  and  the  sorrowful  earn- 
estness of  manner  with  which  she  embraced  the  sis- 
ters, were  melancholy  assurances  that  the  condition 
of  the  sufferer  was  not  improved.  Hanna  joined  her 
tears  with  hers  ; *but  Kathleen,  whose  sweet  voice 
in  attempting  to  give  the  affectionate  girl  consola- 
tion, was  more  than  once  almost  shaken  out  of  its 
firmness,  did  all  she  could  to  soothe  and  relieve  her. 

On  entering  the  house,  they  found  a number  of 
the  neighboring  females  assembled,  and  indeed  the 
whole  family,  in  consequence  of  the  alarm  and  agi- 
tation visible  among  them,  might  not  inaptly 
be  compared  to  a brood  of  domestic  fowl  when  a 
hawk,  bent  on  destruction,  is  seen  hovering  over 
their  heads. 

As  is  usual  with  Catholic  families  in  their  state  of 
life,  there  were  several  of  those  assembled,  and  also 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


197 


some  of  themselves,  at  joint  prayer  in  different  parts 
of  the  house;  and  seated  by  her  bedside  was  her 
youngest  son  Art,  engaged,  witli  sobbing  voice  and 
eyes  every  now  and  then  blinded  with  tears,  in  the 
perusal,  for  her  comfort,  of  Prayers  for  the  Sick. 
Tom  M’Mahon  himself  went  about  every  now  and 
then  clasping  his  hands,  and  turning  up  his  eyes  to 
heaven  in  a distracted  manner,  exclaiming — “Oh  ! 
Bridget,  Brioget,  is  it  come  to  this  at  last!  And 
you’re  lavin’  me — you’re  lavin  me  ! Oh,  my  God  ! 
what  will  I do — how  will  I live,  an’  what  will  be- 
come of  me ! ” 

On  seeing  Bryan,  he  ran  to  him  and  said — “Oh ! 
Bryan,  to  what  point  will  I turn  ? — where  will  I get 
consolation? — how  will  I bear  it?  Sure  she  was 
like  a blessin’  from  heaven  among  us ; ever  full  of 
peace,  and  charity,  and  goodness — the  kind  word 
an’  the  sweet  smile  to  all;  but  to  me — to  me — 
oh  ! Bridget,  Bridget,  I’d  rather  die  than  live  aftlier 
you  ! ” 

“Father,  dear,  your  takin’  it  too  much  to  heart,” 
replied  Bryan  ; “ who  knows  but  God  may  spare 
her  to  us  siill  ? But  you  know  that  even  if  it’s  His 
will  to  remove  her  from  amongst  us” — his  voice 
l^re  failed  him  for  a moment — “ hem — to  remove 
her  from  amongst  us,  it’s  our  duty  to  submit  to  it ; 
but  I hope  in  God  she  may  recover  still.  Don’t 
give  way  to  sich  grief  till  wo  hear  what  the  docthor 
will  say,  at  all  events.  How  did  she  complain 
or  get  ill ; for  I think  she  wasn't  worse  when  I left 
home  ? ” 

“ It’s  all  in  her  stomach,”  replied  his  father. 


198 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘She  was  seized  wid  cramps  in  her  stomach,  an’  she 
complains  very  much  of  her  head  ; but  her  whole 
strength  is  gone,  she  can  hardly  spake,  and  she  has 
death  in  her  face.” 

At  this  moment  his  brother  Michael  came  to  them, 
and  said — “ Bryan — Bryan” — but  he  could  jjroceed 
no  farther. 

“Whisht,  Michael,”  said  the  other;  “this  is  a 
sliame;^  instead  of  supportin’  and  cheerin’  my  fath- 
er, you’re  only  doin’  him  harm.  I tell  you  all  tiiat 
you’ll  find  there’s  no  raison  for  this  great  grief.  Be 
a man,  Michael — ” 

“ She  has  heard  your  voice,”  proceeded  his  broth 
er,  “and  wishes  to  see  you.” 

This  proof  of  her  affection  for  him,  at  the  very 
moment  when  he  was  attempting  to  console  others, 
was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  Bryan  knew 
that  he  himself  had  been  her  favorite  son,  so  far  as 
a heart  overflowing  with  kindness  and  all  the  ten- 
der emotions  that  consecrate  domestic  life  and  make 
up  its  happiness,  could  be  said  to  have  a favorite. 
There  was,  however,  that  almost  imperceptible  par- 
tiality, which  rarely  made  its  appearance  unless  in 
some  slight  and  inconsiderable  circumstance,  but 
which,  for  that  very  reason,  was  valuable  in  propor- 
tion to  its  delicacy  and  the  caution  with  which  it 
was  guarded.  Always  indeed  in  some  quiet  and  in- 
offensive shape  was  the  partiality  she  bore  him  ob- 
servable; and  sometimes  it  consisted  in  a postpone- 
ment of  his  wishes  or  comforts  to  those  of  her  other 
children,  because  she  felt  that  she  might  do  with 
him  that  which  she  could  not  with  the  others — thus 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


199 


calculating  as  it  were  upon  liis  greater  affection. 
But  it  is  wonderful  to  reflect  in  bow  many  ways, 
and  through  what  ingenious  devices,  the  human 
lieart  can  exliibit  its  tenderness. 

Artiiur,  as  Bryan  entered,  had  concluded  tlie  de- 
votions lie  had  been  reading  for  her,  and  relinquish- 
ed to  him  the  chair  he  l-ad  occupied.  On  approach- 
ing, he  was  at  once  struck  by  tiie  awful  change  for 
the  worse,  which  so  very  brief  a peiiod  had  impres- 
sed upon  her  features.  On  leaving  home  tiiat  morn- 
ing she  appeared  to  be  comparatively  strong,  and 
not  further  diminished  in  flesh  than  a short  uneasy 
ailment  might  naturally  occasion.  But  now  her 
face,  pallid  and  absolutely  emaciated,  had  shrank  in 
to  half  its  size,  and  Avas  beyond  all  possibility  of 
liope  or  doubt  stamped  with  the  unequivocal  impress 
of  death. 

Bryan,  in  a state  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe 
and  very  difficult  to  conceive,  took  lier  liand,  and, 
after  a short  glance  at  her  features,  now  so  full  of 
ghastliness  and  the  debility  which  had  struck  her 
down,  he  stooped,  and,  kissing  her  lips,  burst  out 
into  wild  and  irrepressible  sorrow. 

“ Bryan,  dear,”  she  said,  after  a pause,  and  when  his 
grief  had  somewhat  subsided,  “ why  will  you  give  way 
to  this  ? Sure  it  was  on  you  I placed  my  dependence 
— I hojied  that,  instead  of  setlin’  the  rest  an  ex- 
ample for  weakness,  you’d  set  them  one  that  they 
might  and  ought  to  follow — I sent  for  you,  Bryai), 
to  make  it  my  request  that,  if  it’s  the  will  of  God  to 
take  me  from  among  you,  you  might  support  an’ 
console  the  others,  an’  especially  your  poor  father; 


200 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


for  I needn’t  tell  you  that  along  wid  the  pain  I’m 
bearin’,  my  iieart  is  sore  and  full  o’  sorrow  for  what 
I know  he’ll  suffer  when  I'm  gone.  May  the  Lord 
pity  and  give  him  strength  ! — ^for  I can  say  on  my 
dyin’  bed  tliat,  from  the  first  day  I ever  seen  his 
f ice  until  now,  he  never  gave  me  a liarsli  word  or 
an  unkind  look,  an’  that  you  all  know.” 

“ Oh,  how  could  he,  mother  dear?  how  could  any 
one  give  you  tliat?  Who  was  it  that  ever  knew 
you  could  trate  you  with  anything  but  respect  and 
affection  ?” 

“I  hope  I always  struv’  to  do  my  duty,  Bryan, 
towards  God  an’  my  chiMre’,  and  my  fellow-crea- 
tures ; an’  for  that  raison  I’m  not  friglitened  at 
death.  An’,  Bryan,  listen  to  the  words  of  youi 
dyin’  mother—” 

‘‘  Oh  don’t  say  that  yet,  mother,”  replied  her  son, 
sobV>ing ; “ don’t  say  so  yet : who  knows  but  God 
will  spare  your  life,  an’  that  you  may  be  many  years 
wdlh  us  still ; they’re  all  alarmed  too  much,  I 
liope ; but  it’s  no  wondher  we  should,  mother  dear, 
w hen  there’s  any  appearance  at  all  of  danger  about 

2/GW.” 

‘‘  Well,  whether  or  not,  Bryan,  the  advice  I’m 
goin’  to  give  you  is  never  out  o’  saison.  Live  al- 
ways ‘Aith  the  fear  of  God  in  your  heart;  do  noth- 
ing that  you  think  will  displease  Him  ; love  your 
fellow-creatures — serve  them  and  relieve  their  wants 
an’  distresses,  as  far  as  you’re  able;  be  like  your 
own  father — kind  and  good  to  all  about  you,  not  ne- 
glectin’ your  religious  duties.  Do  this,  Bryan,  an’ 
thin  when  the  hour  o’  death  comes,  you’ll  feel  a 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADaRJ.A. 


201 


comfort  an’  a happiness  in  your  heart  that  neither 
the  world  nor  anything  in  it  can  give  you.  You’ll 
feel  tlie  peace  of  God  there,  an’  you  will  die  happy 
—happy.” 

Her  spirit,  animated  by  the  purity  and  religious 
truth  ol  this  simple  but  beautiful  morality,  kindled 
into  pious  fervor  as  she  proceeded,  so  much  so  in- 
deed, that  on  turning  her  eyes  towards  heaven, 
whilst  she  uttered  the  last  words,  they  sparkled  with 
the  mild  and  serene  ligiit  of  that  simple  but  uncon- 
scious entiiusiasm  on  behalf  of  all  goodness  which 
liad  characterized  her  whole  life,  and  which  indeed 
is  a living  principle  among  thousands  of  her  humble 
countrywomen. 

“ This,  dear  Bryan,  is  the  adviCe  I gave  to  them 
all ; it  an’  my  love  is  the  only  legacy  I have  to  lave 
them.  An’  my  darlin’  Dora,  Bryan — oh,  if  you  be 
kind  and  tend  her  to  any  one  o’  them  beyant  another, 
be  so  to  her.  My  darlin’  Dora  ! Oh  ! her  heart’s 
all  affection,  an’  kindness,  an’  generosity.  But  in- 
deed, as  I said,  Biyan,  tlie  task  must  fall  to  you,  to 
strengthen  and  console  every  one  o’  them.  Ay  ! — 
an’  you  must  begin  now.  You  wor  ever,  ever,  a 
good  son  ; an’  may  God  keep  you  in  the  right  faith, 
an’  may  my  blessin’  an’  His  be  wid  you  for  ever ! 
Amin.” 

There  was  a solemn  and  sustaining  spirit  in  her 
words  which  strcngtliened  Bryan,  who,  besides, 
felt  anxious  to  accomplisii  to  the  utmost  extent  the 
affectionate  purpose  which  had  caused  her  to  send 
for  liim. 

“It’s  a hard  task,  mother  darlin’,”  he  replied; 


202 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ but  I’ll  endeavor,  with  God’s  help,  to  let  them  see 
that  I haven’t  bet*n  your  son  for  nothing;  but  you 
don’t  know,  mother,  that  Katlilecn’s  here,  an’  Hanna. 
They  wish  to  see  you,  an’  to  get  your  blessin’.” 

“Bring  them  in,”  she  replied,  “ an’  let  Dora  come 
wid  them,  an’  stay  yourself,  Bryan,  becaise  Tni  but 
weak,  an’  I don’t  wish  that  they  should  stay  too 
long.  God  sees  it’s  not  for  want  ot  love  for  the 
other  girls  that  I don’t  bid  you  bring  them  in,  but 
that  I don’t  wnsh  to  sec  them  sufferin’  too  much  sor- 
row; but  my  darlin’  Dora  will  expect  to  be  where 
Kathleen  is,  an’  my  ovvn  eyes  likes  to  look  upon  her, 
an’  upon  Kathleefi,  too,  Bryan,  for  I feel  my  heart 
bound  to  her  as  if  she  was  one  of  ourselves,  as  I hope 
she  will  be.” 

“ Oh,  bless  her  ! bless  her!  mother,”  he  said,  with 
difficulty,  “ an’ tell  her  them  words  — say  them  to 
herself.  I'll  2:0  now  and  bring  them  in.’^ 

He  paused,  however,  for  a minute  or  two,  in  order 
to  compose  his  voice  and  fea  ures,  that  he  might  not 
seem  to  set  them  an  example  of  weakness,  after  which 
he  left  the  apartment  with  an  appearance  of  greater 
composure  than  he  really  fell. 

In  a few  minutes  the  four  returned  : Bryan,  with 
Kathleen’s  hand  locked  in  his,  and  Ilanna,  with  her 
arm  affectionately  wreathed  about  Dora’s  neck,  as  if 
the  good-hearted  girl  felt  anxious  to  cherish  and 
comfort  her  imder  the  lieavy  calamity  to  wdnch  she 
was  about  to  be  exposed,  for  Dora  wa^pt  bitterly. 
]\lrs.  M’Mahon  signed  to  Ilanna  to  approach,  \yho, 
with  her  characteristic  ardor  of  feeling,  now  burst 
into  tears  herself,  and  stooping  down  kissed  her 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


203 


and  wept  aloud,  wliilst  Dora’s  grief  also  burst  out 
afresh. 

The  sick  woman  looked  at  Bryan,  as  if  to  solicit 
liis  interference,  and  the  look  was  ifii mediately  un- 
derstood by  Kathleen  as  well  as  by  himself. 

“This  is  very  wrong  of  you,  Hanna,”  said  her 
sister;  “out  of  affection  and  pity  to  them,  you  ought 
to  endeavor  to  act  otherwise.  They  have  enough, 
an’  too  much,  to  feel,  without  your  setting  them  tliis 
example;  and,  Dora  dear,  I tljought  you  had  more 
courage  than  you  l ave.  All  this  is  only  grieving 
and  disturbing  your  mother;  an’  I ho|)e  that,  for 
lier  sake,  you’ll  both  avoid  it.  I know  it’s  hard  to 
do  so,  but  it’s  the  diffic\ilty  and  the  trial  that  calls 
upon  us  to  have  strength,  otherwise  what  are  we 
better  llian  them  that  we’d  condemn  or  think  little 
of  for  their  weakness.” 

The  truth  and  moral  force  of  the  words,  and  the 
firmness  of  manner  that  marked  Kathleen  as  she 
spoke,  were  immediately  successfuL  The  grief  of 
the  two  girls  was  at  once  husiied  ; and,  after  a slight 
pause,  Mrs.  M’Mahon  called  Kalh  een  to  Iier. 

“ Dear  Kathleen,”  she  said,  “I  did  hope  to  see  the 
day  when  you'd  be  one  of  my  own  family,  but  it’s 
not  the  will  of  God,  it  appears,  that  I should;  how- 
ev<*r,  may  His  will  be  done!  I hope  still  tliat  day 
will  come,  an’  that  your  friends  won’t  have  any 
longer  an  objection  to  your  man  iage  wid  Bryan.  I 
am  his  mother,  an’  no  one  has  abetter  right  to  knovv 
Ids  heart  an’  his  temper,  an’  I can  say,  upon  my  dyiu’ 
bed,  that  a better  heart  an’  a better  temper  never 
was  in  man.  I believe,  Kathh  en,  it  was  never  known 


204 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAOARRA. 


that  a good  son  ever  made  a bad  husband.  How- 
ever, if  it’s  God’s  will  to  bring  you  together,  He 
wdll,  and  if  it  isn’t,  you  must  only  bear  it  patiently.” 

Bryan  was  silent,  but  his  eye,  from  time  to  time, 
turned  with  a long  glance  of  love  and  sorrow  upon 
Kathleen,  whose  complexion  became  pale  and  red 
by  turns.  At  length  Dora,  after  her  mother  had 
concluded,  went  over  to  Kathleen,  and  putting  her 
arms  around  her  neck,  exclaimed,  “ Oh  ! mother  dear, 
soraethifig  tells  me  that  Kathleen  will  be  mysisther 
yet,  an’  if  you  d ask  her  to  promise — ” 

Kathleen  looked  down  upon  the  beautiful  and  ex- 
pressive features  of  the  affectionate  girl,  and  gently 
raising  her  hand  she  placed  it  upon  Dora’s  lips,  in 
order  to  prevent  the  completion  of  the  sentence. 
On  doiiig  so  she  received  a sorrowful  glance  of  deep 
and  imploring  entreaty  from  Bryan,  which  she  re- 
turned with  another  that  seemed  to  reprove  him  for 
doubling  her  affection,  or  supposing  that  such  a pro- 
mise was  even  necessary.  ‘‘Ko,  Dora  dear,”  she 
said,  “ I could  make  no  promise  without  the  know- 
ledge of  my  father  and  mother,  or  contrary  to  their 
wdshes;  but  did  you  think,  darling,  that  such  a thing 
w^as  necessary  ? ” She  kissed  the  sweet  girl  as  she 
spoke,  and  Dora  felt  a tear  on  her  cheek  that  was  not 
her  own. 

Mrs.  M’Mahon  had  been  looking  with  a kind  of 
mournful  admiration  upon  Kathleen  during  this  lit- 
tle incident,  and  then  proceeded.  “She  suys  what 
is  right  and  true;  and  it  would  be  wrong,  my  poor 
child,  to  ask  her  to  give  sich  a promise.  Bryan, 
thry  an’  be  worthy  of  that  girl — oh,  do  ! an’  if  you 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


205 


ever  get  lier,  you’ll  have  raison  to  thank  God  for  one 
of  the  best  gills  He  ever  gave  to  man.  Ilaiina^come 
here — come  to  me — let  me  put  my  liand  upon  your 
head.  May  my  blessin’  and  God’s  blessin’  rest  upon 
you  for  ever  more.  There  now,  be  stout,  acushla 
machive.”  Ilaiina  kissed  lier  again,  but  her  grief 
was  silent ; and  Dv>ra,  fearing  she  might  not  be  able 
to  restrain  it,  took  lier  away. 

“Nuw,”  proceeded  the  dying  woman, ‘‘ come  to 
me,  you  Kuihleen,  my  daughter — sure  you’re  the 
daughter  of  my  heart,  as  it  is.  Kneel  down  and 
stay  with  tne  awhile.  Wliy  dues  my  Iteart  warm 
to  yoa  as  it  never  did  to  any  one  out  o’  my  own 
family  ? Why  do  1 love  you  as  if  you  were  my  own 
child?  Because  I hope  you  will  be  so.  Kiss  me, 
aslhore  machree.” 

Kathleen  kissed  her,  and  for  a few  moments  Mrs. 
M’Mahon  felt  a shower  of  warm  tears  upon  her  face, 
accompanied  by  a gentle  and  caressing  pressure,  that 
seemed  to  corroborate  and  reiurn  the  hope  she  had 
just  expressed.  Kathleen  hastily  wiped  away  her 
tears,  however,  and  once  more  resuming  her  firmness, 
awaited  the  expected  blessing. 

“Now,  Kathleen  dear,  for  fear  any  one  might  say 
that  at  my  dyin’  hour,  I endeavored  to  take  any 
unfair  advantage  of  your  feelins  for  my  son,  listen 
to  me—love  him  as  you  may,  and  as  I know  you  do.” 

‘‘  Why  should  I deny  it?”  said  Kathleen,  “1  do 
love  him.” 

“ I know,  daiTin’,  you  do,  but  for  all  that,  go  not 
agin  the  will  and  wishes  of  your  parents  and  friends; 
that’s  my  last  advice  to  you.” 


206 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


She  then  placed  her  hand  upon  her  head,  and  in 
words  breathing  of  piety  and  affection,  she  invoked 
many  a blessitig  upon  her,  and  upon  any  that  was 
dear  to  her  in  life,  after  whicli  both  Bryan  and 
Kathleen  left  her  to  the  rest  which  she  now  required 
so  much. 

The  last  liour  had  been  an  interval  from  pain 
with  Mrs.  M’Mahon.  In  the  course  of  the  day  both 
the  priest  and  the  doctor  arrived,  and  she  appeared 
sornewljat  better.  The  doctor,  however,  prepared 
tliein  for  the  worst,  and  in  confirmation  of  his  opin- 
ion, the  spasms  returned  with  dreadful  violence,  and 
in  the  lapse  of  two  hours  after  his  visit,  this  pious 
and  virtuous  woman,  after  suffering  unexampled 
agony  with  a patience  and  forti  ude  that  could  not 
be  surpassed,  expired  in  the  midst  of  her  afflicted 
family. 

It  often  happens  in  domestic  life,  that  in  cases 
where  long  and  undisturbed  affection  is  for  the  first 
time  deprived  of  its  object  by  death,  there  super- 
venes upon  the  sorrow  of  many,  a feeling  of  awful 
sympathy  willi  that  individual  whose  love  for  the 
object  has  been  the  greatest,  and  whose  loss  is  of 
course  the  most  irreparable.  So  was  it  with  the 
M’Mahons.  Thomas  JM’Mahon  himself  could  not 
bear  to  witness  the  sufferings  of  his  wife,  nor  to 
hear  her  moans.  lie  accordingly  left  the  house,  and 
Avalked  about  the  garden  and  farm-yard,  in  a state 
little  short  of  actual  distraction.  When  the  last 
scene  was  over,  and  her  actual  sufferings  closed  for 
ever,  the  outrage  of  grief  among  his  children  be- 
came almost  hushed  from  a dread  of  witnessing  the 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA. 


207 


sufferings  of  their  father ; and  for  the  time  a great 
portion  of  their  own  sorrow  was  merged  in  wliat 
they  ielt  for  liim.  Nor  was  this  feeling  confined  to 
themselves.  His  neighbors  and  acquaintances,  on 
liearing  of  Mrs.  M’Mahoii’s  death,  almost  all  ex- 
claimed : — 

“ Oh,  what  will  become  of  him  ? they  are  nothing 
an’  will  forget  her  soon,  as  is  natural,  well  as  they 
loved  her;  but  poor  Tom,  oh ! what  on  earth  will 
become  of  him  ? ” 

Every  eye,  however,  now  turned  toward  Bryan, 
who  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  possessed  of 
courage  enough  to  undertake  the  task  of  breaking 
the  heart-rendino:  intelligence  to  their  bereaved 
father. 

“ It  must  be  done,”  he  said,  ‘‘  and  the  sooner  it’s 
done  the  better;  what  would  I give  to  have  my 
darlin’  Kathleen  here!  Her  eye  and  her  advice 
would  give  me  the  strength  that  I stand  so  much 
in  need  of.  My  God,  how  will  I meet  him,  or 
break  the  sorrowful  tidings  to  him  at  all ! Tiie  Lord 
supp‘u*t  me ! ” 

“Ah,  but  Bryan,”  said  they,  “ you  know  he  looks 
up  to  whatever  you  say,  and  how  much  he  is  ad- 
vised by  you,  if  there  happens  to  be  a doubt  about 
anything.  Except  her  that’s  gone,  there  was  no 
one — ” 

Bryan  raised  his  hand  wdth  an  expression  of  reso- 
lution and  something  like  despair,  in  order  as  well 
as  he  could  to  intimate  to  them,  that  he  wished  to 
hear  no  allusion  made  to  her  whom  they  had  lost, 
or  that  he  must  become  incapacitated  to  perform  the 


208 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


task  lie  had  to  encounter,  and  taking  his  hat  he  pro- 
ceeded to  find  his  father,  whom  he  met  behind  the 
garden. 

It  may  be  observed  of  deep  grief,  that  wlienever 
it  is  excited  by  the  loss  of  what  is  good  and  virtuous, 
it  is  never  a solitary  passion,  we  mean  wdthiii  the 
circle  of  domestic  life.  So  far  from  that,  there  is  not 
a kindred  afift  ciion  under  the  influence  of  a virtuous 
heart,  that  is  not  stimulated  and  strengthened  by 
its  emotions.  How  o^ten  for  instance  have  two 
members  of  the  same  family  rushed  into  each  other's 
arms,  when  struck  by  a common  sense  of  the  loss  of 
some  individual  that  was  dear  to  both,  because  it 
was  felt  that  the  very  fact  of  loving  the  same  object 
Lad  now  made  them  dear  to  each  other. 

The  father,  on  seeing  Bryan  approach,  stood  for  a 
few  moments  and  looked  at  him  eagerly  ; he  then 
approached  him  with  a hasty  and  unsettled  step,  and 
said,  “ Bryan,  Bryan,  I see  it  in  your  face,  she  lias 
left  us,  she  has  left  us,  she  has  left  us  all,  an’  she  has 
left  me  ; an’  how  am  I to  live  wdthout  kerf  answer 
me  that;  an’  then  give  me  consolation  if  you  can.” 

He  threw  himself  on  his  son’s  neck,  an  1 by  a 
melancholy  ingenuity  attempted  to  seduce  him  as 
it  were  from  the  firmness  which  he  appeared  to  pre- 
serve in  the  discharge  of  this  sorrowful  task,  with 
a hope  that  he  might  countenance  him  in  the  excess 
of  his  grief— “ Oh,”  he  added,  “ have  lost  her, 
Bryan — you  and  I,  the  two  that  she — that  she — 
Your  word  was  everything  to  her,  a law  to  her;  and 
she  w^as  so  proud  out  of  you — an’  her  eye  w^ould  rest 
upon  you  smilin’,  as  much  as  to  say — there’s  my 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


209 


son,  haven’t  I a riglit  to  feel  proud  of  him,  for  he  has 
never  once  vexed  his  mother’s  heart?  nayther  did 
you,  Bryan,  nayther  did  you,  hut  now  who  will 
praise  you  as  she  did?  who  will  boast  of  you  beliind 
your  back,  for  she  seldom  did  it  to  your  face ; and 
now  that  smile  of  love  and  kindness  will  never  be 
on  lier  blessed  lips  more.  Sure  you  won’t  blame  me^ 
Bryan — oli,  sure  above  all  men  livin’,  you  won’t 
blame  me  for  feeliii’  her  loss  as  I do.” 

The  associations  excited  by  the  language  of  his 
father,  were  such  as  Bryan  was  by  no  means  pre- 
pared to  meet.  Still  he  concentrated  all  his  moral 
power  and  resolution  in  order  to  accomplish  the  task 
he  had  undertaken,  which,  indeed,  was  not  so  much 
to  announce  his  mother’s  death,  as  to  support  his 
father  under  it.  After  a violent  effort,  he  at  length 
said : — 

“Are  you  sorry,  father,  because  God  has  taken 
my  mother  to  llimsell?  Would  you  wisli  to  liave 
her  here,  in  pain  and  suffering  ? Do  you  grudge 
her  Iieaven  ? Father,  you  were  always  a brave  and 
strong,  fearless  man,  but  what  are  you  now  ? Is 
tlds  the  example  you  are  settiii’  to  us,  who  ought  to 
look  up  to  you  for  support?  Don’t  you  k!iovv  my 
mother’s  in  heaven?  Wliy,  one  would  iliink  you’re 
sorry  for  it?  Come,  come,  father,  set  your  cliildie’ 
ail  example  now  when  they  want  it,  that  they  eaii 
look  up  to — be  a man,  and  dont  forget  tliat  sht^’s 
in  God's  Glory.  Come  in  now,  and  comfort  the 
rest.” 

“ Ay,  but  when  I think  of  what  she  was,  Bryan; 
of  wiiat  she  was  to  me,  Bryan,  from  the  first  day 


210 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


I ever  called  her  my  wife,  ay,  and  before  it,  wlien 
she  could  get  better  matches,  when  slie  stniggleil, 
and  waited,  and  fought  for  me,  against  all  opposi- 
tion, till  her  father  au’  mother  saw  her  heart  was 
fixed  upon  me;  houM  your  tongue,  Bryan,  I 11  have 
no  one  to  stop  my  grief  for  her,  where  is  she? 
wliere’s  my  wife,  I tell  you  ? where’s  Bridget  M'Ma- 
hon  ? — Brkiget,  wliere  are  you?  have  you  left  me, 
gone  from  me,  an’  must  I live  here  widout  y u? 
must  I lise  in  the  mornin’,  and  neither  see  y<>u  nor 
liear  you?  or  must  I live  here  by  myself  an’  never 
have  your  opinion  nor  advice  to  ask  upon  anything 
as  I used  to  do — Bridget  M’Mahon,  why  did  you 
leave  me  ? where  are  you  from  me  ? ” 

“ Here’s  Dora,”  said  a sweet  but  broken  voice ; 
‘Miere’s  Dora  M’Malion — your  own  Dora,  too — and 
that  you  love  bekase  I was  like  Aer.  Oh,  come  with 
me,  father,  darlin’.  For  her  sake,  compose  yourself 
and  come  with  me.  Oh,  what  are  to  feel ! wasn’t 
she  our  mother?  Wasn’t  she  ? — wasn’t  she  ? What 
am  I savin’?  Ay,  but,  now — we  have  no  mother, 
now  ! ” 

M’Mahon  still  leaned  upon  his  son’s  neck,  but  on 
hearing  his  favorite  daughter’s  voice,  he  put  his  arm 
round  to  where  she  stood,  and  clasping  her  in, 
brought  her  close  to  him  and  Bryan,  so  that  tliG 
three  individuals  formed  one  sorrowing  group  to- 
gether. 

“ Father,”  repeated  Dora,  ‘‘come  with  me  for  my 
mother’s  sake.” 

He  started.  “ What’s  that  you  say,  Dora  ? For 
your  mother’s  sake?  I will,  darlin’ — for  sake, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


211 


I will.  Ay,  that’s  the  way  to  manage  me — for  her 
sake.  Oh,  what  wouldn’t  1 do  for  her  sake  ? Como, 
then,  God  bless  you,  dailin’,  for  puttin’  that  into 
my  liead.  You  may  make  me  do  aiiytliing,  now, 
Dora,  jewel  — it  you  jist  ax  it  for  In  r sake.  Oh, 
my  God  ! an’  is  it  come  to  tliis  ? An’  am  I talkin’ 
til  is  way  ? — but — well,  for  her  sake,  darliu’ — for  her 
sake.  Come,  I’ll  go  in — but — but — oh,  Bryan,  how 
can  I?  ” 

“You  know  father,”  replied  Bryan,  who  now  lield 
his  arm,  “ we  must  all  die,  and  it  w'ill  be  well  for  us 
if  we  can  die  as  she  died.  Didn't  Father  Peter  say 
that  if  ever  the  light  of  heaven  was  in  a human 
heart,  it  was  in  hers  ? ” 

“ Ay,  but  when  I go  in  an’  look  upon  her,  an’  call 
Bridget,  she  won’t  answer  me.” 

“ Father  dear,  you  are  takin’  it  too  much  to  heart.” 

“Well,  it’ll  be  the  first  time  she  ever  refused  to 
answer  me — the  first  time  that  ever  her  lips  will  be 
silent  when  I spake  to  her.” 

“ But,  father,”  said  the  sweet  girl  at  his  side, 
“ think  of  me.  Sure  I’ll  be  your  Dora  more  tlian  ever,^ 
now.  You  know  what  you  promised  me  this  minute. 
Oh,  for  her  sake,  and  for  God’s  sake,  then,  don’t 
take  it  so  much  to  heart.  It  was  my  grandfather 
sent  me  to  you,  an’  he  says  he  wants  to  see  you,  an’ 
to  spake  to  you.” 

“Oil!”  he  ex(daimed,  “My  poor  father,  an’ he 
won’t  be  long  afther  her.  But  this  is  the  way  wid 
all,  Bryan— the  way  o’  the  world  itself.  We  must 
go.  I didn’t  care,  now,  how  soon  I followed  her. 
Oh,  no,  no.” 


212 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Don’t  say  so,  father;  tliiok  of  the  family  you  " 
have;  think  of  how  you  love  them,  and  how  they 
love  you.  father  dear.  Don’t  give  way  so  much  to 
this  sorrow.  I kjiow  it’s  hard  to  bid  you  not  to  do 
it;  but  \’ou  know  we  rnu^t  strive  to  overcome  our- 
selves. I hope  there’s  hippy  days  and  yeirs  before 
us  still.  Wedl  have  our  leases  soon,  you  know,  an’ 
then  we’ll  feel  firm  and  comfortable:  an’  you  know 
you’ll  be — we’ll  all  be  near  where  she  sleeps.” 

“ Where  she  sleeps.  Well,  th-re’s  comfort  in  that, 
Bryan — there’s  comfort  in  that.” 

The  old  man,  thougii  very  feeble,  on  seeing  him 
approach,  rose  up  and  met  him.  “Tom,”  said  he, 

“ be  a man,  and  don’t  shame  my  white  hairs  nor 
your  own.  I lost  your  mother,  an’  I was  as  fond  of 
her,  an’  liad  as  good  a right,  too,  as  ever  you  were 
of  her  that’s  now  an  angel  in  lieaven;  but  if  I lost 
lier,  I bore  it  as  a man  ought.  I never  yet  bid  you 
do  a thing  that  you  didn’t  do,  but  I now  bid  you 
stop  cryin’,  an’  don’t  fly  in  the  face  o’  God  as  you’re 
doin’.  You  respect  my  white  hairs,  an’  God  will 
help  you  as  he  has  done ! ” 

*■  The  venerable  appearance  of  the  old  man,  the 
melancholy  but  tremtilous  earnestness  with  wliich 
he  spoke,  and  the  placid  spirit  of  submission  which 
touched  his  whole  bearing  with  the  light  of  an  in- 
ward piety  that  no  age  could  dim  or  overshadow, 
all  combined  to  work  a salutary  influence  upon 
M'Malion.  lie  evidently  made  a great  effort  at 
composure,  nor  wiihout  success.  Mis  grief  became 
calm;  he  paid  attention  to  other  matters,  and  by 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


213 


the  aid  of  Bryan,  and  from  an  anxiety  lest  he  should 
disturb  or  offend  his  father  by  any  further  excess 
of  sorrow,  he  was  enabled  to  preserve  a greater 
degree  of  composure  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. 


214 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  Xir.  ' 

HYCY  CONCERTS  A PLOT  AND  IS  URGED  TO  MARRY. 

The  Hogans,  wlio  seldom  missed  a Wake,  Dance, 
Cockfight,  or  any  other  place  of  amusement  or 
tumult,  were  not  present,  we  need  scarcely  assure 
our  readers,  at  tlie  wakehouse  of  Mrs.  M’Alahon. 
On  tliat  night  they  and  Teddy  Phats  were  all  sitting 
in  their  usual  domicile,  the  kilti,  already  mentioned, 
expecting  Hycy,  when  the  following  brief  dialogue 
took  place,  previous  to  his  appearance. 

‘‘  What  keeps  this  lad,  Hycy?”  said  Bat;  “an’  a 
complate  lad  is  in  his  coat,  when  he  has  it  on  him. 
Throth  I have  my  doubts  whether  this  same  gentle- 
man is  to  be  depended  on.” 

“ Gentleman,  indeed,”  exclaimed  Philip,  “noth- 
ing short  of  that  will  sarve  liim,  shure.  To  be  de- 
pinded  on.  Bat!  Why,  thin,  it’s  more  than  P»1  like 
to  say.  Howanever,  he's  as  far  in,  an’  farther  than 
we  are.” 

“There’s  no  use  in  our  quarrelin’  wid  him,”  said 
Phals,  in  his  natural  manner.  “ If  he’s  in  our  p >wer, 
we’re  in  his;  an’  you  know  he  could  soon  make  the 
counthry  too  hot  to  hold  us.  Along  wid  all,  too, 
he’s  as  revengeful  as  the  dioule  himself,  if  not  a 
thrifle  more  so.” 

“If  he  an’  Kathleen  gets  sothered  together,”  said 
Philip,  “’twould  be  a good  look  up  for  uz,  at  any 
rate.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


216 


Kate  Hogan  was  the  only  female  present,  the 
truth  beir^g  that  Pliilip  and  Ned  were  both  widowers, 
owing,  it  was  generally  btdieved,  to  the  brutal  treat- 
ment wliich  their  unrortunate  wives  received  at  their 
hands. 

“Don’t  quarrel  wid  liim,”  said  slie,  “ if  you  can, 
^ at  any  rate,  till  we  get  him  more  in  our  power,  an’ 

. that  he’ll  be  soon,  maybe.  If  we  fall  out  wid  hiai, 
we’d  have  to  lave  the  place,  an’  maybe  to  go  farther 
tlian  we  intend,  too.  Wherever  we  went  over  the 
])rovince,  this  you  know  was  our  headquarters. 
, Here’s  where  all  belongin’  to  us — I mane  that  ever 
died  a natural  death,  or  drew  their  last  breath  in 

• the  counthry — rests,  an’  I’d  not  like  to  go  far  from 
it.” 

“Let  w'hat  will  liappen,”  said  Philip,  with  an 
. oath,  “ I’d  lose  my  right  arm  before  Bryan  M’Mahon 
put?<  a ring  on  Kathleen.” 

“I  can  tell  you  that  Hycy  has  no  notion  of  marry- 
in’  her,  thin,”  said  Kate. 

“ How  do  you  know  that?”  asked  her  husband. 

“ I’ve  a little  bird  that  tells  me,”  she  replied. 

“Gerald  Cavanagh  an’  his  wife  doesn’t  think  so’’ 
said  Pliilij).  “ They  and  Jemmy  Burke  has  the 
match  nearly  made.” 

“ They  may  make  the  match,”  said  Kate,  “but  it’s 

• more  than  they’ll  be  able  to  do  to  make  the  marriage. 
ITycy’s  at  greater  game,  I tell  you;  but  wdietherjm 
is  or  not,  I tell  you  again  that  Bryan  M’Mahon  will 
have  her  in  spite  of  all  opposition.” 

“ May  be  not,”  said  Phats ; “Hycy  will  take  care 
“ o’  that;  he  has  him  set;  jfee’ll  work  him  a charm; 


216 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OE  AHADARRA. 

»■ 

he’ll  take  care  that  Bryan  won’t  be  long  in  a lit  way 
to  offer  himself  as  a inateJi  for  her.” 

“More  power  to  him  in  that,”  said  Piiilip  ; “if  he 
makes  a beggarman  of  him  he  may  depend  on  us  to 
the  back-bone,” 

“Have  no  hand  in  injurin’  Bryan  M’Mahon,”  said 
Kate.  “Keep  him  from  marryin’  Kathleen  if  you  like, 
or  if  you  can ; but,  if  you’re  wise,  don’t  injure  the 
boy.” 

“Why  so?”  asked  Philip. 

“ That’s  nothing  to  you,”  she  replied  ; “ for  a rai- 
son I have;  and  mark  me,  I warn  you  not  to  do  so 
or  it’ll  be  worse  for  you.” 

“ Why,  who  are  we  afraid  of,  barrin’  Ilycy  him- 
self?” * 

“ It’s  no  matther ; there’s  them  livin’  could  make 
you  afeard,  an’  maybe  will,  too,  if  you  injure  that 
boy.” 

“Pd  just  knock  him  on  the  head,”  replied  the  fero- 
cious ruffian,  “ as  soon  as  I would  a ma  i dog.” 

“ Whisht,”  said  Phats,  “ here’s  Hycy  ; don’t  you 
hear  his  foot  ? ” 

Hycy  entered  in  a few  moments  afterwards,  and, 
after  the  usual  greetings,  sat  down  by  the  lire. 

“De  night’s  could,”  said  Phats,  resuming  his 
brogue  ; “ but  here,”  he  added,  pulling  out  a botile 
of  whiskey,  “ is  something  to  warm  de  blood  in  us. 
Will  you  thry  it,  Meeisther  Hycy  ?” 

“ By-and-by— not  now  ; but  help  yourselves.” 

“When  did  you  see  Miss  Kathleen,  Masther 
Hycy,”  asked  Kate. 

“You  mean  Miss  Kathleen  the  Proud?”  here- 


THE  EMiaRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. . 


217 


plied — “ my  Lady  Dignity— I have  a crow  to  pluck 
with  her.^'^ 

“ What  crow  have  you  to  pluck  wid  her?^’  asked 
Kate  fiercely.  “You’ll  pluck  no  crow  wud  or, 
if  you  do,  Vll  find  a bag  to  hould  the  fedhers — mind 
that.” 

“ No,  no,”  said  Philip  ; “whatever’s  to  be  done,  she 
must  come  to  no  harm.” 

“ Why,  the  crow  I have  to  pluck  with  her,  Mrs. 
Ilogaii,  is— let  me  see — why — to — to  marry  her — to 
bind  lier  in  the  bands  of  holy  wedlock;  and  you 
know,  wiien  I do,  Pm  to  give  you  all  a house  and 
place  free  gratis  for  nothing  during  your  lives — that’s 
what  I pledge  myself  to  do,  and  not  a rope  to  hang 
yourselves,  worthy  gentlemen,  as  Finigan  would  say. 
1 pass  over  the  fact,”  he  proceeded,  laughing,  “ of 
the  peciilar  intimacy  which,  on  a certain  occasion, 
w’as  established  between  Jemmy  the  gentleman’s 
old  oak  drawers  and  your  wrenching-irons ; how- 
ever, that  is  not  the  matter  at  present,  and  I am 
somewhat  in  a hurry.” 

“Youlieard,”  said  Bat,  “that  Bryan  M’Mahoa 
has  lost  his  mother  ? ” 

“I  did,”  said  the  other;  “poor  orphan  lad,  I pity 
him.” 

“We  know  you  do,”  said  Bat,  with  a vindictive 
but  approving  sneer. 

“I  assure  you,”  continued  Hycy,  “I  wish  the 
young  man  well.” 

“ Durin’  der  lives,”  repeated  Phats,  who  had  evi- 
dently been  pondering  over  Hycy’s  promised  gift  to 
the  Hogans ; — “ throth  ” he  observed  with  a grin, 
10 


218 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


dere  may  be  something  under  dat  too.  Ay ! an’ 
she  wishes  Bryan  M’Mahon  well,”  he  exclaimed, 
raising  his  red  eyebrows. 

“ Shiss,”  replied  Ilycy,  mimicking  him,  “ her 
does.” 

“ But  you  must  have  de  still-house  nowhere  but 
in  Ahadarra  for  alls  dat.” 

“For  alls  dats,”  replied  the  other. 

“Dat  will  do  den,”  said  Phats,  composedly. 

“ Enough  of  this,”  said  Ilycy.  “ Now,  Phats, 
have  you  examined  and  pitched  upon  the  place?  ” 

“Well,  then,”  replied  Phats,  speaking  in  his  natu- 
ral manner,  “ I have ; an’  a betther  spot  isn’t  in 
Europe  than  there  is  undher  the  l)ip  of  Cullamore. 
But  do  you  know  how  Roger  Cooke  sarved  Adam 
Blakely  of  Glencuil?” 

“ Perfectly  well,”  replied  Hycy,  “ he  ruined  him.” 

“ But  we  don’t  know  it,”  said  Ned  ; “ how  was  it, 
Teddy?” 

“ Why  he  set  up  a still  on  his  property — an’  you 
know  Adam  owns  the  whole  townland,  jist  as  Bryan 
M’Mahon  does  Ahadarra — an’  afther  three  or  four 
runnins  he  gets  a bloody  scoundrel  to  inform  upon 
Adam,  as  if  it  was  him  an’  not  himself  that  had  the 
still.  Clinton  the  guager — may  the  devil  break  his 
neck  at  any  rate  ! — an’  the  red-coats — came  and 
found  all  right.  Still,  Head,  and  Worm.” 

“Well,”  said  Bat,  “ an’  how  did  that  ruin  him?” 

“Why,  by  the  present  law,”  returned  Piiats,  “ it’s 
the  townland  that  must  pay  the  fine.  Poor  Adam 
wasn’t  to  say  very  rich ; he  had  to  pay  the  fine, 
however,  and  now  he’s  a beggar — root  an’  branch. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


219 


cTiick  an’  child  out  of  it.  Do  you  undherstand  tliat, 
Mistlier  Ilycy  ? ” 

No,”  rt*j>lied  ITycy,  “you're  mistaken;  I have  re- 
course to  the  still,  because  I want  cash,  lloiu^st 
Jriinuy  the  geulleinan  has  taken  i\\M  sthacl  won’t 
fork  out  any  longer,  so  that  I must  either  ran  a 
east  or  two  every  now  an’  then,  or  turn  clodhopper 
like  himself.  So  much  I say  for  your  information, 
]Mr.  Piiats.  In  the  mean  lime  let  us  see  whai’s  to 
be  done.  Here,  Ned,  is  a five-pound  no’e  to  buy 
barley  ; keep  a strict  account  of  this  ; for  I do  assure 
you  that  1 am  not  a person  to  be  ])layed  on. 
Tliere’s  another  thirty-shilling  note — or  stay,  Til 
make  it  two  ]munds — to  enable  you  to  box  up  the 
still  house  and  remove  the  vessels  and  things  i’roni 
Glendearg.  Have  you  all  ready,  Philip  ? ” he  said, 
addressing  liimself  to  IL»gan. 

“Ail,”  replied  Philip;  “ sicli  a Still,  Head,  and 
Worm,  you’d  not  find  in  Europe — ready  to  be  set  to 
work  at  a mir.ute’s  notice.” 

“When,”  said  Hycy,  rising,  “will  it  be  necessary 
that  I shouhl  see  you  again  ?” 

“ We’ll  let  you  know,”  replied  Phats,  “ when  we 
want  you.  Kate  here  can  drop  in,  as  il  by  accident, 
an’  give  the  hrnid  icordy 

“Well,  then,  good-night — stay,  give  me  a glass 
of  v/hislvy  beft)re  I go;  and,  before  I do  go,  listen. 
You  know  the  confidence  I place  in  every  one  of  you 
cn  this  occasion?” 

“ We  do,”  replied  Philip;  “no  doubt  of  it.” 

“Listen,  I say.  I swear  by  all  that  a man 
can  swear  by,  that  if  a soul  of  you  ever  breathes — 


220 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OJ  AHAPARRiL 


I hope,  by  the  way,  that  these  young  savages  are 
all  asleep — ” 

‘•As  sound  as  a top,”  said  Bat,  “ every  one  o’ 
them.” 

“ Well,  if  a single  one  of  you  ever  breathes  my 
name  or  menlions  me  to  a human  being  as  in 
any  way  connected,  directly  or  indirectly,  with  the 
business  in  which  we  are  engaged.  I’ll  nuke  the 
country  too  hot  to  hold  you — and  you  need  no  ghost 
to  I el  I you  how  easily  I could  dispose  of  you  if  it 
went  to  that.” 

Kale,  when  he  had  repeated  these  words,  gave 
liini  a peculiar  glance,  which  was  accompanied  by  a 
short  abrupt  laugh  that  seemed  to  have  something 
derisive  in  it, 

“Is  there  anything  to  be  laughed  at  in  what  I 
am  saying,  most  amiable  Mrs.  Hogan?”  he  asked. 

Kate  gave  either  a feigned  or  a real  start  as  he 
spoke. 

“Laughed  at:”  she  exclaimed,  as  if  surprised; 
“throih  I wasn’t  thinkin’  of  you  at  all,  Mr.  llycy. 
What  vvor  you  sayin’?” 

“That  if  my  name  ever  happens  to  be  mentioned 
in  connection  with  this  busiin  ss,  I’ll  send  the  whvde 
kit  of  you — h immers,  budgets,  and  soihering-irons 
— to  hell  ur  Connauglit ; so  think  of  this  now,  and 
gO<‘d-nigllt.” 

“Ttiere  goes  as  d d a vagihone,”  said  Ked, 

“ as  ever  stretched  liemp  ; and  only  that  it's  our 
own  Imsiness  to  make  the  most  use  we  can  out  of 
him,  I didn’t  care  the  devil  had  hi«n,  for  I don't 
like  a bone  in  his  skin.” 


THE  EMTQRAKTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


221 


Why,”  saul  Philip,  “I  sec  what’s  lice’s  at  now. 
Sure  enoiigli  lie’ll  put  the  copin’ stone  on  Bryan  M’- 
Malion  at  any  rate — tliat,  an’  if  we  can  get  the 
house  and  jdace  out  of  him — an’  what  need  we 
care  ? ” 

“Send  ns  to  hell  or  Connaught,”  said  Kate; 
“ well,  tliat’s  not  had — ^ha  ! ha  I ha  ! ” 

“What  are  you  neigherin’  at?”  said  her  hus- 
band ; “ and  what  set  you  a-cacklin’  to  his  face  a 
wliile  ago  ?” 

She  shook  her  head  carelessly.  “ Ko  matther,” 
she  replied,  “ for  a raison  I had.” 

“Would  you  let  me  know  your  raison,  if  you 
plaise?” 

“If  I plaise — ay,  you  did  well  to  put  that  in,  for 
I don’t  plaise  to  let  you  know  any  more  about  it.  I 
laughed  becaise  I liked  to  laugh  ; an’  I hope  one 
may  do  that  ’iihout  being  brought  over  the  coals 
about  it.  Go  to  bed,  an’  grve  me  another  glass  o’ 
wlii'ky,  Ted — it  always  makes  me  sleep.” 

Ted  had  been  for  some  minutes  evidently  rumi- 
nating. 

“ He  is  a good  boy,”  said  he ; “ but  at  any  rate 
our  hands  is  in  the  lion’s  mouth,  an’  it’s  not  our 
policy  to  vex  him.” 

Hycy,  on  liis  way  home,  felt  himself  in  better  spi- 
rits than  lie  had  been  in  for  some  time.  The  ar- 
rangement with  young  Clinton  gave  him  considera- 
ble satisfaction,  and  he  now  resolved  to  lose  as  little 
time  as  possible  in  executing  his  own  part  of  the 
contract.  Clinton  liimself,  who  was  a thoughtless 
young  fellow,  fond  of  pleasure,  and  with  no  great 


222 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADaRRA. 


relish  for  business,  was  guided  almost  in  everj^thing 
by  his  knowing  old  uncle  the  gauger,  on  whom  lie 
and  his  sister  depended,  and  who  looked  upon  him 
as  unfit  for  any  kind  of  employment  unh  ss  the 
management  of  a cheap  farm,  such  as  would  neces- 
sarily draw  his  attenlion  fromliahifs  of  idleness  and 
expense  to  those  of  applicaiion  and  industry.  Being 
aware,  from  common  report,  that  McMahon’s  exten- 
sive and  improvable  holding  in  Ahadarra  was  out 
of  lease,  he  immediately  set  his  heart  upon  it,  but 
knew  not  exactly  in  what  manner  to  accom|)lish  his 
designs,  in  securing  it  if  he  could,  without  exposing 
liimself  to  suspicion  and  a good  deal  of  obloquy  be- 
sides. Old  Clinton  was  one  of  those  sheer  and  har- 
dened sinners  who,  without  either  scruple  or  re- 
morse, yet  think  it  worth  while  to  keep  as  good 
terms  with  the  world  as  they  can,  whilst  at  the 
same  time  they  laugh  at  and  despise  in  iheir  liearts 
all  that  is  worthy  of  honor  and  respect  in  it.  Ills 
nephew,  however,  had  some  positive  good,  and  not 
a little  of  that  light  an  1 reckless  profligacy  which 
is  often  mistaken  for  heart  and  spirit,  llycy  and 
lie,  though  not  very  long  acquainted,  were,  at  the 
present  period  of  our  narrative,  on  very  intimate 
terms.  They  had,  it  is  true,  a good  many  propensi- 
ties in  common,  and  tliese  were  what  constituted 
the  bond  between  them.  They  w^ere  companions 
but  not  friends ; and  Clinton  saw  many  things  in 
Ilycy  wdiich  di-^gusted  him  exceedingly,  and  scarce- 
ly anytliing  more  than  the  contemptuous  manner  in 
which  he  spoke  of  and  treated  his  parents.  He 
liked  his  society,  because  he  was  lively  and  without 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


223 


any  of  that  high  and  honorable  moral  feeling  which 
is  often  troublesome  to  a companion  who,  like  Clin- 
ton, was  not  possessed  of  much  scruple  while  engag- 
ed in  the  pursuit  of  pleasures.  On  this  account, 
therefore,  we  say  that  he  relished  his  society  but 
could  neither  respect  nor  esteem  him. 

On  the  following  morning  at  breakfast,  his 
uncle  asked  him  where  he  had  dified  the  day  before. 

“With  llycy  Burke,  sir,”  replied  the  nephew. 

“ Yes;  that  is  honest  Jemmy’s  son — a very  great 
man  in  his  own  conceit,  Harry.  You  seem  to  like 
him  very  much.” 

Harry  felt  a good  deal  puzzled  as  to  the  nature  of 
his  reply.  He  knew  very  well  that  his  uncle  did  not 
relish  Hycy,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not  exactly 
state  his  opinion  of  him  without  bringing  in  ques- 
tion his  own  penetration  atid  good  taste  in  keeping 
his  society.  Then,  with  respect  to  his  sister,  al- 
thougii  he  had  no  earthly  intention  of  seeing  her 
the  wife  of  sueh  a person,  still  he  resolved  to  be 
able  to  say  to  Hycy  that  he  had  not  broken  his 
word,  a consideraiion  which  would  not  have  bound 
Hycy  one  moment  under  the  same  circumstan- 
ces. 

“Hv’s  a very  pleasant  young  fellow,  sir,”  replied 
the  otlier,  “ and  has  been  exceedingly  civil  and  at- 
tentive to  me.” 

“ Ay  !— do  you  like  him — do  you  esteem  him,  I 
mean  ?” 

“ I dare  say  I will,  sir,  when  I come  to  know  him 
better.” 

“ Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  at  present  you 


224 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


do  not.  So  I thought.  You  have  a portion  of  good 
sense  about  yon,  but  in  a thousand  things  yoii’ie  a 
jackass,  Harry,” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  his  nepliew,  laughing 
heartily;  “thank  you  for  the  comj)liiuent.  I am 
your  nephew,  you  know.” 

“ You  have  a parcel  of  d d scruples,  I say, 

that  are  ridiculous.  What  the  devil  need  a man 
care  about  in  this  world  but  appearances  ? Mind 
your  own  interests,  keep  up  a])pearances,  and  you 
have  done  your  duty.” 

“ But  I should  like  to  do  a little  more  than  keep 
up  appearances,”  replied  his  nephew. 

“I  know  you  would,”  said  his  uncle,  “and  it  is 
for  that  especial  reason  that  I say  you’re  carrying 
the  ears.  I’m  now  a longtime  in  the  world,  Maslher 
Harry — sixty-two  years — although  I don’t  look  it, 
nor  anything  like  it,  and  in  the  course  of  that  time 
— or,  at  all  events,  ever  since  I was  able  to  form  my 
own  opinions,  I never  met  a man  that  wasn’t  a 
rogue  in  something,  with  the  exception  of — h*t  me 
see — one — two — three — four — five — I’m  not  able  to 
make  out  the  half-dozen.” 

“And  who  were  the  five  honorable  exceptions?” 
asked  his  niece,  smiling. 

“They  were  the  five  fools  of  the  parish,  Maria — 
and  yet  I am  wrong,  still — for  Bob  M*Cann  was  as 
thievish  as  the  very  devil  whenever  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity. And  now,  do  you  know  the  conclusion  I 
come  to  from  all  this?  ” 

“ I suppose,”  said  his  niece,  “ that  no  man’s  honest 
but  a fool.” 


'’THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


226 


“ Thank  you,  Maria.  Well  done — you’ve  liit  it. 
By  the  way,  it  set  ms  M’Mahon's  wife,  of  Curriglass, 
is  dead.-’ 

“ Is  she  ? ” said  Harry  ; “ that  is  a respectable 
family,  father,  by  all  accounts.” 

“ Why,  lliey  neither  rob  nor  steal,  I believe,”  re- 
plied his  uncle.  “ Tliey  are  like  most  people,  I sup- 
pose, honest  in  the  eye  of  the  law — honest  because 
the  laws  keep  them  so.” 

“I  did  not  tliiiik  your  opinion  of  the  world  was 
so  bad,  uncle,”  said  Maria;  “ I hope  it  is  not  so  bad 
as  you  say  it  is.” 

“ All  I can  say,  then,”  replied  the  old  Cynic, 
“that  if  you  wait  till  you  find  an  honest  man  for 
your  husband,  you’ll  die  an  old  maid.” 

“Well,  but  excuse  me,  uncle,  is  that  safe  doctrine 
to  lay  down  before  your  nephew,  or  myself?” 

“IWh,  as  to  you,  J’ou  silly  girl,  what  h^e  you  to 
do  witli  it?  We’re  talkin’  about  men,  now — about 
the  world,  I say,  and  life  in  general.” 

“ And  don’t  you  wish  Harry  to  be  honest  ?” 

“Yes,  where  it  is  his  interest;  and  ditto  to  rogue- 
ry, where  it  can  be  done  safely.” 

“ I know  you  don’t  f el  what  you  say,  uncle,”  she 
observed,  “ nor  believe  it  either.” 

“ Not  he,  Maria,”  said  her  brother,  awakening  out 
of  a reverie  ; “ but,  uncle,  as  to  Hycy  Burke— I don’t 
' — hem.” 

“You  don’t  what?”  asked  the  other,  rising  and 
staring  at  him. 

His  nephew  looked  at  bis  sister,  and  w^as  silent. 

“ You  don’t  what,  man  ? — always  speak  out.  Here, 


226 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


help  me  on  with  this  coat,  Fethertorige  and  I are 
taking  a ride  up  to-morrow  as  far  as  Aliadarra.” 

“That’s  a man  I don’t  like,”  said  the  nephew. 
“ He’s  too  soft  and  too  sweet,  and  speaks  too  low  to 
be  honest,” 

“ Honest,  you  blockhead  ! Who  says  he’s  honest  ?” 
replied  his  uncle.  “He’s  as  good  a thing,  however^ 
an  excellent  man  of  the  world  that  looks  to  the 
main  point,  and — keeps  up  appearances.  Take  care 
. of  yourselves;”  and  with  these  wonls,  accompanied 
with  a shrewd,  knavish  nod  that  was  peculiar  to  him, 
in  giving  which  with  expression  he  w^as  a perfect 
adept,  he  left  them. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  brother  and  his  sister  look- 
ed at  eacli  other,  and  the  latter  said,  “ Can  it  be  pos- 
sible, Harry,  that  my  uncle  is  serious  in  all  he  says 
on  this  subject  ? ” 

Her  brother,  who  paid  more  regard  to  the  princi- 
ples of  his  sister  than  her  uncle  did,  felt  great  reluc- 
tance in  answering  her  in  the  affirmative,  so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  he  resolved  to  stretch  a little  for  the 
Bake  of  common  decency. 

“ Not  at  all,  Maria;  no  man  relishes  honesty  more 
than  he  does.  He  only  speaks  in  this  fashion  because 
lie  thinks  that  honest  men  are  scarce,  and  so  they  are. 
But,  by  the- way,  talking  about  Ilycy  Burke,  Maria, 
how  do  you  like  him?” 

“ I can’t  say  I admire  him,”  she  replied,  “but  you 
know  I have  had  very  slight  opportunities  of  form- 
ing any  opinion.” 

“From  what  you  have  seen  of  him,  what  do  you 
think  ? ” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


227 


‘^Let  me  eee,”  she  replied,  pausing ; “why,  that 
he’ll  meet  very  few  who  will  think  so  highly  of  him 
as  he  does  liimself.” 

“He  thinks  very  higlily  of  you,  then.” 

“ How  do  you  know  that  ? ” she  asked  somew^hat 
quickly. 

“Faith,  Maria,  from  UiG  best  authority — because 
he  hiinselt  t Id  me  so.” 

“ So,  then,  I have  had  the  honor  of  furnishing  you 
with  a topic  ot  conversation?  ” 

“ UnquesUonably,  and  you  may  prepare  yourself 
for  a surprise.  He’s  attached  to  you.” 

“ 1 think  not,”  she  replied  calmly. 

“ Why  so  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Because,  if  you  wi^h  to  know  the  truth,  I do  not 
think  him  capable  of  attachment  to  any  one  but  him- 
self.” 

“Faith,  a very  good  reason,  Maria;  but,  seriously, 
if  he  should  introduce  the  subject^  I trust,  at  all 
events,  that  you  will  treat  him  with  respect.” 

“ I shall  certainly  respect  myself,  Harry.  He  need 
not  fear  that  I shall  read  liim  one  of  my  uncle’s  lec- 
tures upon  life  and  honesty.” 

“ I have  promised  not  to  be  his  enemy  in  the  mat- 
ter, and  I shall  keep  my  word.” 

“ So  you  may,  Harry,  with  perfect  safet}\  I am 
much  <»bligrd  to  him  for  his  good  opinion;  but” — 
she  paust'd. 

“ What  do  you  stop  at.,  Maria  ? ” 

“I  was  only  about  to  add,”  she  replied,  “that  I 
wish  it  was  mutual.” 


228 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Yon  wish  it,”  he  exclaimed.  “What  do  you 
mean  by  tliat,  Maria?  ” 

She  laughed.  “ Don’t  you  know  it  is  only  a form 
of  speech  ? a polite  way  of  saying  that  he  does  not 
rank  high  in  my  esteem?  ” 

“Well,  well,”  he  replied,  “settle  that  matter  be- 
tween you  ; perhaps  tke  devil  is  not  so  black  as  he’s 
painted.” 

“A  very  unhappy  Illustration,”  said  his  sister, 
“whatever  has  put  it  into  your  head.” 

“Faith,  and  I don’t  know  what  put  it  there. 
However,  all  I can  say  in  tlie  matter  I liave  already 
said.  I am  not,  nor  shall  I be,  his  enemy.  I’ll  trou- 
ble you,  as  you’re  near  it,  to  touch  the  bell  till 
George  gets  the  horse.  I am  going  up  to  his  fath- 
er’s, now.  Shall  I tell  him  than  John  Wabace  is 
discarded ; that  he  will  be  received  with  smiles,  and 
that—” 

“How  can  you  be  so  foolish,  Harry  ?” 

“ Well,  good-bye,  at  any  rate.  You  are  perfectly 
capable  of  deciding  for  yourself,  Maria.” 

“I  trust  so,”  she  replied.  “There’s  George  with 
your  horse  now.” 

“ It’s  a blue  look-up.  Master  Hycy,”  said  CliiUon 
to  himself  as  he  took  his  way  to  Burke’s.  “I  think 
you  have  but  little  chance  in  that  quarter,  oh,  most 
accomplished  Hycy,  and  indeed  T am  not  a whit  sor- 
ry ; but  should  be  very  much  so  were  it  otherwise.” 

It  is  singular  enough  that  whilst  Clinton  was  in- 
troducing the  subject  of  lly  cy’s  attachment  to  *his 
sister,  that  worthy  young  gentleman  was  sustaining 
a much  more  serious  and  vehement  onset  upon  a 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


229 


similar  subject  at  home.  Gerald  Cavanagh  and  Ids 
wife  having  once  got  the  notion  of  a marriage  be* 
tween  Kathleen  and  Ilycy  into  tludr  hea»ls,  were  de- 
termined not  to  rest  umil  that  desirable  c >n summa- 
tion should  be  brought  about.  In  accordance  with 
tins  resolution,  we  must  assure  our  readers  that  Ger- 
ald never  omitted  any  opportunity  of  introducing 
the  matter  to  Jemmy  Burke,  who,  as  he  liked  the 
Gavanaghs,  and  especially  Kathleen  herself,  who, 
indeed,  was  a general  favorite,  began  to  think  that, 
altliough  in  point  of  circumstances  she  was  by  no 
means  a match  for  him,  Ilycy  might  do  still  worse. 
It  is  true,  his  wife  was  outrageous  at  the  bare  men- 
tion of  it;  but  Jemmy,  along  witli  a good  deal  of 
blunt  sarcasm,  had  a resobuion  of  his  own,  and  not 
unfrequently  look  a kind  of  good-natured  and  shrewd 
delight  in  opposing  lier  wishes  whenever  lie  found 
them  to  be  unreasonable.  For  several  montlis  past 
he  could  not  put  his  foot  out  of  the  door  that  he 
was  not  haunted  by  honest  Gerald  Cavanagh,  who 
liad  only  one  idea  constantly  before  him,  that  of  rais- 
ing his  daughter  to  the  rank  and  state  in  which  he 
knew,  or  at  least  calculated  that  Ilycy  Burke  would 
keep  her.  Go  where  he  might,  honest  Jemmy  was 
attended  by  honest  Gerald,  like  \\\9>  fetch.  At  mass, 
at  market,  in  every  fair  throughout  the  country  was 
Cavanagh  sure  to  bring  up  the  sul»ject  of  the  mar- 
riage; and  what  was  the  best  of  it,  he  and  his 
neighbor  draidc  each  otherV  healths  so  repeatedly 
on  tlie  head  of  it,  that  they  often  separated  in  a state 
that  might  be  termed  anything  but  sober.  Nay, 
what  is  more,  it  was  a fact  that  they  had  more  than 


280 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


once  or  twice  absolutely  arranged  tbe  whole  matter, 
and  even  appointed  the  day  for  the  w^edding,  without' 
either  of  them  being  able  to  recollect  the  circum- 
stances on  the  following  morning. 

Whilst  at  breakfast  on  the  morning  in  question, 
Burke,  after  finishing  his  first  cup  of  tea,  addressed 
Lis  wortliy  son  as  follows  : — 

“ Ilycy,  do  you  intend  to  live  always  this  way?” 
“ Certainly  not,  ISIr.  Burke.  I expect  to  dine  on 
something  more  substantial  tlian  tea.” 

“ You’re  very  stupid,  Plycy,  not  to  understand 
me;  but,  indeed,  you  never  were  overstocked  wid 
brains,  unfortunately,  as  I know  to  my  cost — but 
wliat  I mane  is,  have  you  any  intention  of  changing 
your  condition  in  life?  Do  you  intend  to  marry, or 
to  go  on  spendin’  money  upon  me  at  this  rate  !” 

“ The  old  lecture,  Mrs.  Burke,”  said  Hycy,  address- 
ing his  motlier.  “Father,  you  are  sadiy  deficient 
in  originality.  Of  late  you  are  perpetually  repeat- 
ing yourself.  Why,  I suppose  to-morrow  or  next 
day,  you  will  become  geometrical  on  our  hands,  or 
treat  us  to  a grammatical  praxis.  Don’t  you  think 
it  very  likely,  Mrs.  Burke ! ” 

“And  if  lie  does,”  replied  his  mother,  “it’s  not 
the  first  time  he  has  been  guilty  of  both  ; but  of  late, 
all  the  little  shame  he  had,  he  has  lost  it.” 

“ Faith,  and  if  I liadn’t  got  a large  stock.  I’d  a 
been  run  out  of  it  this  many  a day,  in  regard  of 
wliat  I had  to  lose  in  that  way  for  you,  Hycy.  How- 
ever, I’ll  tliank  you  to  listen  te  me.  Have  you  any 
intention  of  marry  in’  a w'ife?” 

“ Unquestionably,  Mr.  Burke.  Not  a doubt  of  it.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADaRRA. 


231 


Well,  T am  glad  to  hear  it.  The  sooner  yon’ re 
married,  tlie  sooner  \ on‘li  settle  down.  You’ll  know 
then,  my  lad,  what  life  is.” 

Honest  Jemmy’s  sarcasm  was  likely  to  carry  him 
too  far  from  liis  purpose,  which  was  certainly  not  to 
give  a malicious  account  of  matrimony,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  to  recommend  it  to  his  wortiiy  son. 

“Well,  Mr.  Burke,”  said  llyey,  winking  at  his 
mother,  “ |)roceed.” 

“Tile  truth  is,  Ilycy,”  he  added,  “I  have  a wife 
in  my  eye  for  you.” 

“I  tliought  as  much,”  replied  the  other,  “I  did 
imagine  it  was  there  you  had  her  ; name — Mr.  Burke 
— name.” 

“Troth,  I’m  ashamed  to,  Ilycy,  to  name  her  and 
yourself  on  tlie  same  day.” 

“Well  can’t  you  name  her  to-day,  and  postpone 
me  until  to-morrow  ?” 

“It  would  be  almost  a pity  to  liave  her  thrown 
away  upon  you.  A good  and  virtuous  wife,  how- 
ever, may  do  a great  deal  to  reclaim  a bad  husband, 
and,  indeed  you  wouldn’t  be  the  first  profligate  that 
was  reformed  in  tlie  same  way.” 

“ Many  thanks,  Mr.  Burke,  you  are  quite  geologi- 
cal this  morning,  isn't  he,  ma’am  ?” 

“ When  was  he  ever  anything  else  ? God  pardon 
him!  However  I know  what  he’s  exterminatin’  for; 
he  wants  you  to  marry  Kathleen  Cavanaglu” 

“ Ay  do  I,  Rosha;  and  she  might  make  liim  a re- 
spectable man  yet, — that  is  if  any  woman  could.” 

“ Geological  again,  mother;  well  really  now  Kat- 
sey  Cavanagh  is  a splendid  girl,  a fine  animal,  no 


232 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


doubt  of  it ; all  her  points  are  good,  but  at  the  samo 
time,  Mr.  Biiike,  a trifle  too  plebeian  for  Hycy  tlie 
acc(!mplished.’* 

‘‘  I lell  you  she’s  a devilish  sight  too  good  for  you  ; 
and  if  you  don’t  marry  her,  you’ll  never  get  such  a 
Mufe.” 

“ Troth,”  answered  Mrs.  Burke,  “ I think  myself 
there’s  something  over  you  or  you  Avouldn’t  spake 
as  you  do— a wife  for  Ilycy — one  of  Gerald  Cava- 
nagh’s  daughters  make  a wife  for  him! — not  while 
I’m  alive  at  any  rate,  plaise  God.” 

“While  you’re  alive ; well,  may  be  not : — but  sure 
if  it  pluses  God  to  bring  it  about,  on  your  own  plan, 
I must  endaivor  to  be  contented,  Rosha ; ay  an’ 
how  do  you  know  but  I’d  dance  at  their  weddin’ 
too  ! lia  ! ha ! ha  ! ” 

“ Oh  then  it's  you  that’s  the  bitther  pill,  Jemmy 
Burke  ! but  thank  God  I disregard  you  at  all  events. 
It’s  little  respect  you  pay  to  my  feelings  or  ever 
did.” 

“I  trust,  my  most  amiable  mother,  that  you  won't 
suffer  the  equability  of  your  temper  to  be  disturbed 
by  anything  proceeding  from  sucii  an  antiphlogistic 
source.  Allow  me  to  say,  Mr.  Burke,  that  I have 
higher  game  in  view,  and  that  for  the  present  I must 
beg  respectfully  to  decline  tlie  proposal  which  you 
so  kindly  mad(»,  fully  sensible  as  I am  of  the  honor 
you  intended  for  me.  If  you  will  only  exercise  a 
little  patience,  however,  perhaps  I shall  have  the 
pleasure  ere  long  of  presenting  to  you  a lady  of  higli 
accomplishments,  amiable  manners,  and  very  con- 
siderable beauty.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHABaRRA. 


233 


Not  a ‘ Crazy  Jane  ’ bargain,  I hope  ? ” 

“Really,  Mr.  Burke,  you  are  pleased  to  be  sarcas- 
tic; but  as  for  honest  Kalsey,  Inive  the  goodness  to 
lake  lier  out  of  your  eye  as  soon  as  possible,  for 
sl)e  only  blinds  you  to  your  own  interest  and  to 
mine.” 

“ You  wouldn’t  marry  Kitlileen,  then  ? ” 

“ For  the  present  I say  most  assuredly  not,”  re- 
plied the  son  in  the  same  ironical  and  polite  tone. 

“Because,’'  continued  his  father  with  a very  grave 
smile  in  which  there  was,  to  say  truth,  a good  deal 
of  the  grin  visible,  “as  poor  Gerald  was  a good 
deal  anxious  about  the  matther,  I said,  I’d  try  and 
make  you  marry  her — to  oblige  himP 

Ilycy  almost  if  not  altogether  lost  Ids  equanimity 
by  the  contemptuous  sarcasm  implied  in  these 
words.  “ Father,”  said  he,  “ to  save  trouble  and  to 
prevent  you  and  me  both  from  thrashing  the  wind 
in  this  manner,  I think  it  right  to  tell  you,  that  I 
liave  no  notion  of  marrying  such  a girl  as  Cavanagh’s 
daughter.” 

“No,”  continued  his  mother,  “nor  if  you  had  I 
wouldn’t  suffer  it.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  the  father,  “ is  that  your  mind?” 

“That’s  my  mind,  sir.” 

“ Well  now  listen  to  mine,  and  maybe,  Hycy,  I’ll 
taiche  y^ou  better  manners  and  more  respect  for  your 
father;  suppose  I bring  your  brother  liome  from 
school, — suppose  I breed  him  up  an  honest  farmer, 
- — and  suppose  I give  him  all  my  property^  and  lave 
Mr.  Gentleman  Ilycy  to  lead  a gentleman’s  life  on 
his  own  means,  the  best  way  he  can.  There  now  is 


234 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


something  for  you  to  suppose,  and  so  I must  go  to 
my  men.” 

He  took  up  his  hat  as  he  spoke  and  went  out  to 
tile  tit  Ids,  leaving  both  mother  and  son  in  no  slight 
degive  startled  by  an  intimation  so  utterly  unex- 
pected, but  wh’ch  they  knew  enough  of  him  to 
believe  was  one  not  at  all  unliktdy  to  be  actetl  on 
by  a man  who  so  frequently  followed  up  his  own 
determinations  with  a spirit  amounting  almost  to 
obsiinacy. 

“1  think,  mother,”  observed  the  latter,  ‘‘  we  must 
take  in  sail  a little,  ‘the  gentleman’  won’t  hear  the 
ir.mical  to  such  an  extent  although  he  is  master  of 
it  in  his  own  way ; in  other  words,  Mr.  Burke  won’t 
bear  to  be  laughed  at.” 

“ Not  he,”  said  his  mother  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
was  half  angry  at  him  on  that  very  account,  “he’ll 
bear  notliing.” 

“D— 11  it,  to  tell  that  vulgar  bumpkin,  Cavanagh 
I supp<»se  in  a state  of  maudlin  drunkenness,  that  he 
would  make  me  marry  his  daughter — to  oblige  him  ! 
contempt  could  go  no  further;  it  was  making  a com- 
plete cipher  of  me.” 

“Ay,  but  I’tn  disturbed  about  what  he  said  going 
out,  Hyc3\  I don’t  half  like  the  face  he  had  on  him 
wlien  he  said  it ; and  when  he  comes  to  discover 
other  things  too,  money  mattliers — there  will  be  no 
ktepiii’  the  house  wid  him.” 

“I  fear  as  much,”  said  Hycy,  “ however  we  must 
only  play  our  cards  as  well  as  we  carV;  he  is  an  im- 
practicable man  no  doubt  of  it,  and  it  is  a sad  thing 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


235 


that  a young  fellow  of  sj)irit  should  be  depending  on 
such  a — 

‘ Ye  banks  and  braes  o’  bonnie  Doon, 

Ho  vV  can  yon  bloom  so  fi  csb  and.*  air, 

How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I sue  weary  fu’  o’  care,  &c., 

Well,  well — I do  not  relish  that  last  hint  certainly, 
and  if  other  projects  should  fail,  vvliy,  as  touching  the 
fair  Katsey,  it  miglit  not  be  impossible  that — how- 
ever time  will  develope.  She  is  a fine  girl,  a mag- 
nificent creature,  no  doubt  of  it,  still,  most  m item  il 
relative,  as  I said,  time  will  develope — by  the  way 
Mrs.  M’Mahon,  the  clodhopper’s  mother,  is  to  be 
interred  to-morrow,  and  I suppose  you  and  ‘ the 
gentleman’  will  attend  the  funeral.” 

“ Sai  tinly,  we  must.” 

“ So  sinill  ‘ the  accomplished.’  Clinton  and  I shall 
honor  that  lugubrious  ceremony  with  our  presence; 
but  as  respecting  th«e  clodhopper  himself,  meaning 
thereby  Bryan  of  Ahadarra,  he  is  provided  for. 
What  an  unlucky  thought  to  enter  into  the  old  fel- 
low’s n<*ddle!  lloweve,  noM  constat^  as  Finigan 
would  say,  time  will  develope.” 

“You’re  not  gainin’  ground  with  him  at  all 
events,”  said  his  mother  ; “ ever  since  that  crazy 
Jane  affair,  he’s  cliangi'd  for  tlie  worse  towards 
both  of  us,  or  ever  since  the  robbery  I ought  to  say, 
for  he’s  dark  and  has  something  on  his  mind  ever 
since.” 

I’m  in  the  dark  there  myself,  most  amiable  of 
motliers ; however,  as  I said  just  now,  I say  time 
will  develope.” 


236  THE  EMICHIANTS  OF  AHAHAEHA.  * 

lie  then  began  to  prepare  himself  for  the  business 
of  the  day,  which  consisted  principally  in  ridin 
about  seeking  out  new  adventures,  or  as  they  ten 
it,  hunting  in  couples,  with  Harry  Clinton. 


P 0^ 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


237 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MRS.  m’mAHOx’s  funeral. 

On  the  morning  of  Mrs.  M’Mahon’s  funeral,  the 
house  as  is  usual  in  sucli  cases,  was  filled  with  rela- 
tives anJ  neighbors,  each  and  all  anxious  to  soothe 
and  give  comfort  to  the  afflicted  fAinily.  Protes- 
tants ami  Presbyterians  were  there,  who  entered  as 
deeply  and  affect  innately  into  the  sorrow  which  was 
felt  as  if  they  were  connected  to  them  by  blood. 
Moving  about  with  something  like  authority,  was 
Dennis  O’Grady,  the  Roman  Catholic  Parish  Clerk, 
who,  with  a semi-clerical  bearing,  undertook  to  di- 
rect the  religious  devotions  which  are  usual  on  such 
occasions.  In  consequence  of  the  dearth  of  scho(ds 
and  teachers  that  then  existed  in  our  unfortunate 
country,  it  frequently  liappened,  that  persons  were, 
from  necessity,  engaged  in  aiding  the  performance 
of  religious  duties,  who  were  possessed  of  very  little 
education,  if  not,  as  was  too  often  the  case,  abso- 
lutely ainl  wholly  illiterate.  Dennis  was  not  abso- 
lutely iiliief  ate,  but,  in  good  truth,  he  was  by  no 
means  far  removed  from  that  uncomfortable  category. 
Finigan,  the  Schoolmaster,  was  also  present;  and  as 
he  claimed  acquaintance  with  the  classics,  and  could 
undei>tand  and  read  with  something  like  correct- 
ness the  Latin  offlc(‘S,  which  were  fivqiiently  re- 
jxaled  on  these  occa'^ions  it  would  be  utterly 
impossible  to  describe  the  lofty  scorn  and 


238 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


lianghly  supercilious  contempt  with  which  he 
contemplated  poor  Dennis,  who  kept  muttering 
away  at  the  (Jonjlteor  and  De  Prof  and  Is  with  a 
barbarity  of  pronunciation  that  rendered  it  impossi- 
ble for  human  ears  to  understand  a single  word  he 
said.  Finigan,  swollen  with  an  indignation  which  he 
could  no  longer  suppress,  and  stirnulated  by  a glass 
or  two  of  whisky,  took  three  or  four  of  the  neigh- 
bors over  to  a corner,  where,  whilst  his  eyes  re-^ted 
on  Dennis  with  a most  witheiing  expression  of 
scorn,  he  exclaimel — “Here,  hand  mo  that  manual, 
and  get  out  o’  my  way,  you  illiterate  nonentity  and 
most  unsufferable  a])pendage  to  religion.” 

He  then  took  the  book, and  going  over  to  the  coffin, 
read  in  a loud  and  sonorous  voice  the  De  Profandis 
and  other  prayers  for  the  dead,  casting  his  eyes  from 
time  to  time  upon  the  unfortunate  clerk  with  a con- 
temptuous bitterness  and  scorn  that,  for  force  of 
expression,  could  not  be  surpassed.  When  he  had 
concluded,  he  looked  around  him  with  a sense  of 
lofty  triumph  that  was  irresistible  in  its  way. 
“Tiiere,”  said  he,  “is  something  like  accent  and 
quantity  for  you — there  is  something  that  may,  with- 
out derogation  tt>  religion,  be  called  respectable  pe- 
rusal— an’  yet  to  siy  that  a man  like  me,  wid  classi- 
cal accomplishments  and  propensities  from  my  very 
cradle,  should  be  set  aside  lor  that  illiterate  vul- 
garian, merely  because,  like  everj^  other  great  janius, 
I sometimes  indulge  in  the  delectable  enjoyment  of 
a copious  libation,  is  too  bad.” 

This  in  fact  was  the  glsto^  his  resentment  against 
0*Grady.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  for  some  time 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


239 


of  acting  as  clerk  to  the  priest,  who  bore  with  liis 
“copious  libalioiis,”  as  he  called  tliem,  until  com- 
mon decency  rendered  it  impossible  to  allow  liim 
any  longer  the  privilege  of  taking  a part  as  clerk  in 
the  ceremonies  of  religion. 

When  this  was  over,  a rustic  choir,  whom  the 
parish  clerk  had  organized,  and  in  a great  measure 
tauglit  himself,  approached  the  body  and  sang  a 
hymn  over  it,  after  which  the  preparations  for  its  re- 
moval began  to  be  made. 

Ever  since  the  death  of  his  wife,  Thomas  M’Mahon 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  taste  a morsel  of 
food.  He  went  about  from  place  to  place,  marked 
by  such  evidences  of  utter  prostration  and  desj)air 
that  it  was  painful  to  look  upon  him,  especially  when 
one  considered  the  truth,  purity,  and  fervor  of  the 
affection  that  had  subsisted  between  him  and  the 
inestimable  w’oman  he  had  lost.  The  only  two  in- 
dividuals capable  of  exercising  any  influence  upon 
him  now  w’ere  Bryan  and  his  daughter  Dora ; yet 
even  they  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  take  any 
sustenance.  IJis  face  was  haggard  and  pale  as  death, 
his  eyes  red  and  bloodshot,  and  liis  very  body,  which 
had  always  been  erect  and  manly,  was  now  stoo[)ed 
and  bent  from  the  very  intensity  of  his  affliction. 

lie  had  been  about  the  garden  during  the  scene 
just  described,  and  from  the  garden  he  passed  round 
tltrougli  all  the  office-houses,  into  everyone  of  which 
he  entered,  looking  at  them  in  the  stu[)id  bereave- 
ment of  grief,  as  if  he  had  only  noticed  them  for  tlie 
first  time.  On  going  into  the  cow-house  where  the 
animals  were  at  their  food,  he  approached  one  of 


240 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA; 


them— til  at  which  had  been  his  wife’s  favorite,  and 
which  would  suffer  no  hand  to  milk  her  but  lier  own 
— “ Oil,  Bracky,”  he  said,  “lillle  you  know  wlio’s 
gone  from  you— even  you  miss  lier  already,  for  you 
refused  for  the  last  three  days  to  let  any  one  of  them 
milk  you,  when  she  was  not  here  to  do  it.  Ah, 
Bracky,  the  kind  hand  and  the  kind  word  that  you 
liked  so  well  will  never  be  wid  you  more — that  low 
sweet  song  that  you  loved  to  listen  to,  and  that  madt3 
y’ou  turn  round  while  she  was  milkin’  you,  an’  lick 
her  wid  your  tongue  from  pure  affection — for  what 
was  there  that  had  life  that  didn’t  love  her?  That 
low,  sweet  song,  Bracky,  you  will  never  hear  again. 
Well,  Bracky,  for  her  sake  I’m  come  to  tell  yon,  this 
sorrowful  mornin’,  that  while  I have  life  an’  the 
means  oi  keejiin’  you,  from  me  an’  them  she  loved 
you  will  never  part.” 

While  he  spoke,  the  poor  animal,  feeling  from  the 
habit  of  instinct  that  the  hour  of  milking  ha*!  arrived, 
turned  r<mnd  and  utt(‘red  once  or  twice  that  affec- 
tionate lowing  with  whicii  she  usually  called  upon 
the  departed  to  come  and  relieve  her  of  her  fragrant 
burthen.  This  was  more  than  the  hearl-broken  man 
could  bear,  he  walked  back,  and  entering  the  wake- 
house,  in  a burst  of  vehement  sorrow — “ Oh,  Bridget, 
my  wife,  my  wife — is  it  any  wondher  we  should  feel 
your  loS'J,  when  your  favorite,  Bracky,  is  callin’  for 
you;  but  you  won’t  come  to  her — that  voice  that  so 
often  charmed  her  will  never  charm  the  poor  affec- 
tionate creature  agin.” 

“Father  dear,”  said  Bryan,  “if  ever  you  were 
called  upon  to  be  a man  it  is  now.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


241 


But,  Bryan,  as  God  is  to  judge  me,”  replied  his 
father,  “ the  cow — lier  own  covv^ — is  callin’  for  her  in 
tlie  cow-liouse  widin^ — it’s  truth — doesn’t  every  thing 
miss  her — even  poor  Brack y feels  as  if  she  was  de- 
salted. Oh,  my  God,  an’  what  will  we  do — what 
will  I do ! 

This  anecdote  told  by  the  sorrowing  husband  was 
indeed  inexpressibly  affecting.  Bryan,  who  had  col- 
lected all  his  firmness  with  a hope  of  being  able  to 
sustain  his  father,  was  so  much  overpowered  by  this 
circumstance  that,  after  two  or  three  ineffectual  at- 
tempts to  soothe  him,  he  was  himself  fairly  over- 
come, and  yielded  for  the  moment  to  bitter  tears, 
whilst  the  whole  family  broke  out  into  one  general 
outburst  of  sorrow,  accompanied  in  many  cases  by 
the  spectators,  who  were  not  proof  against  the  in- 
fluence of  so  natural  and  touching  an  incident. 

Their  neighbors  and  friends,  in  the  mean  time,  were 
pouring  in  last  from  all  directions.  Jemmy  Burke 
and  his  wife — the  latter  ridiculously  over-dressed — 
drove  there  upon  their  jaunting-car,  which  was  con- 
sidered a great  compliment,  followed  soon  after- 
w^ards  by  llycy  and  Harry  Clinton  on  horse-back. 
Geiald  Cavanagh  and  his  family  also  came,  with  the 
exception  of  Kath  leen  and  Hanna,  who  were,  however, 
every  moment  expected.  The  schoolmaster  liaving 
finisliod  the  De  Profundls^  was,  as  is  usual,  treated 
to  a glasss  of  whisky — a circumstance  which  just 
advanced  him  lo  such  a degree  of  fluency  and  easy 
assur  ance  as  was  necessary  properly  to  develope  the 
peculiarities  of  his  character.  Having  witnessed 
Bryan’s  failure  at  consolation,  attended  as  it  was  by 


242 


THE  EMIGRANTS*  OP  AHADARRA. 


the  clamorous  grief  of  the  family,  he  deemed  it  his 
duty,  especially  as  he  had  just  taken  some  part  in 
the  devotions,  to  undertake  the  task  in  which  Bryan 
had  been  so  unsuccessful. 

“Thomas  M’Mahon,”  said  he,  “I’m  disposed  to 
blush — do  you  liear  me,  I say  ? lam  disposed  to 
blush,  I repate,  for  your  want  of — he  doesn’t  hear 
me: — will  you  pay  attention  ? I am  really  disposed 
to  blush  ” — and  as  he  uttered  the  words  he  stirred 
M’Mahon  by  shaking  his  shoulders  two  or  three 
times,  in  order  to  gain  his  attention. 

“ Are  you  ?”  replied  the  other,  replying  in  an  ab- 
sent manner  to  his  words.  “ God  lielp  you  then, 
and  assist  you,  for  it’s  few  can  do  it.” 

“ Can  do  what  ?” 

“Och,  I don’t  know;  whatever  you  wor  sayin’.’* 

“ Patience,  my  good  friend,  Thomas  M’Mahon.  I 
would  call  you  Tom  familiarly,  but  that  you  are  in 
affliction,  and  it  is  well  known  that  every  one  in 
affliction  is,  or  at  least  ouglit  to  be,  treated  with 
respect  and  much  sympathetical  consolation.  You 
are  now  in  deep  sorrow ; but  don’t  you  know  that 
death  is  the  end  of  all  things  ? and  believe  me  there 
are  many  objects  in  this  world  which  a wise  and  ex- 
perienced man  would  lose  wid  much  greater  regret 
than  he  would  a mere  wife.  Think,  for  instance,  how 
many  men  there  are — dreary  and  subdued  creatures 
— who  dare  not  call  their  souls,  if  they  have  any,  or 
anything  else  they  do  possess,  their  own ; think,  I re- 
pate, of  those  who  would  give  nine-tenths  of  all  they 
are  worth  simply  to  be  in  your  present  condition ! 
Wretches  who  from  the  moment  they  passed  under 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


243 


the  yoke  matrimonial,  to  'which  all  oilier  yokes  are 
jokes,  liavo  often  lM‘ard  ol  lihei  ty  Init  never  enjoyed 
it  for  one  sinule  Imhii* — the  L n d In  lp  them  I” 

“Amen  !”  exclaime«l  M’Miho*'  unconscious]  v. 

/ •/ 

“Yes,”  proceeded  Finigan,  “unfortunate  devils 
whose  obstinacy  has  been  streaked  by  a black  mark,  or 
which  ought  rather  to  be  termed  a black  and  blue  mark, 
for  that  is  an  abler  and  more  significant  illustration. 
Poor  quadrupeds  who  have  lived  their  whole  miser- 
able lives  as  marrit*d  men  uiider  an  iron  <ly misty  ; 
and  who  know  that  the  thutiderings  of  Jupiter  him- 
self, if  lie  were  now  in  vogue,  would  be  mere  music 
compared  to  the  fury  of  a conjugal  tongue  when 
agitated  by  any  one  of  the  thousand  causes  that  set 
it  a-going  so  easily.  Now,  Thomas,  I am  far  from 
insinuiting  that  ever  you  st'>od  in  tliat  most  pitia- 
ble category,  but  I know  many  who  have — heigho! 
— and  I know  many  who  do,  and  some  besides  who 
will  ; for  what  was  before  may  be  agin,  and  it  will 
be  nothing  but  ascendancy  armed  wid  her  iron  rod 
on  the  one  hand,  against  pitienc**,  submission,  and 
tribulation,  wid  their  groans  and  penances  on  the 
other.  Courage  then,  my  worthy  friend  ; do  not  be 
overwhelmed  wid  grief,  for  1 can  assure  you  that  as 
mailers  in  general  go  on  the  surface  of  this  terraque- 
ous globe,  the  death  of  a wife  ought  to  be  set  down 
as  a f)?‘oof  that  heaven  does  not  altogether  overlook 
us.  ’Tis  true  there  are  tears  shed  upon  such  occa- 
sions, and  for  very  secret  reason’s  too,  if  the  truth 
were  known.  Joy  has  its  tears  as  well  as  grief,  I 
believe,  and  it  is  often  rather  difficult,  under  a bles- 
sing so  completely  disguised  as  the  death  of  a wi — 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


244 


of  one’s  matrimonial  partner,  to  restrain  tliem. 
Come  then,  be  a man.  There  is  Mr.  lT3’cy  l>urke,  a 
tender-hearted  v’oiing  gefitlernan,  and  if  yon  go  on 
tliis  wa}’’  y ii  v\ill  have  liim  weejjiiig  fur  sheer  sym- 
palli}’,  not  pretermilling  Mr.  Cliiitun,  his  companion, 
w'ho  is  equally  inclined  to  be  paihelic,  if  one  can 
judge  from  apparent  symptoms.” 

“ I’m  obliged  to  you,  masther,”  replied  M'Mahon, 
who  had  not  heard,  or  ratlier  paid  attention  to,  a 
single  syllable  he  had  littered,  ‘‘  Of  course  it's 
tlirnih  yuu're  savin’ — it  is — it  is,  farcer  gair  it 
is;  and  she  that’s  gone  Irorn  me  is  a ])roof  of  it. 
Wliat  wondher  then  that  I should  shed  tears,  and 
feel  as  I do  ? ’ 

The  unconscious  simplicity  of  this  reply  to  such  a 
singular  argument  for  consolation  as  the  schoolmas- 
ter had  advanced,  caused  many  to  smile,  some  to 
laugh  outright,  and  others  to  sympathize  still  more 
deef>ly  with  M’Mahon’s  sorrow.  Finigm’s  allusion 
to  Hycy  and  his  companion  was  justilit^d  by  the  con- 
trast which  tim  appearance  of  each  jn-esented. 
Hycy,  who  enj«>yed  his  lecture  on  the  tribulations 
of  matiimonial  life  ver^"  rnucli,  laughed  as  he  ad- 
vanced in  It,  whilst  Clinton,  who  was  really  absori)- 
ed  in  a contemplation  of  the  profound  and  solemn 
spirit  which  marked  the  chai*actcr  of  the  grief  he 
witnessed,  and  who  h It  impressi^d  besides  by  the 
touching  emblems  of  dealli  and  bereav*  ment  which 
surronn  led  him,  gradually  gave  way  to  the  impres- 
sions tiiat  gained  on  him,  until  he  abnosl  felt  the 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

At  this  moment  Kathleen  and  her  sister  Hanna 


245 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


entered  the  house,  and  a general  stir  took  place 
among  those  who  were  present,  which  was  caused 
by  her  strikingly  noble  ligure  and  extraordinary 
bi  auty — a beauty  wliidi,  on  the  occasion  in  question, 
assumed  a peculiarly  dignified  and  njajestic  charac- 
ter Iron)  the  deep  and  earnest  sympathy  with  the 
surrounding  sorrow  that  was  irnurcs.^ed  on  it. 

llycy  and  his  companion  surveyed  lier  for  many 
minutes;  and  tlie  former  began  to  think  that  after 
all,  if  Miss  Clinton  should  fail  him,  Kathleen  would 
make  an  admirable  and  most  lovely  wife.  Her  fa- 
ther soon  after  she  entered  came  ovei*,  and  taking 
her  hand  said,  Come  wid  me,  Kathleen,  till  you 
shake  hands  wid  a great  friend  of  yours — wi<l  Mis- 
ther  Burke.  This  is  herself,  Misilier  Burke,”  he 
afided,  significantly,  on  putting  her  hand  into  that 
of  honest  Jemmy, ‘‘ an’  I think  no  father  need  be 
ashamed  of  her.” 

“Nor  no  father-in-law,”  replied  Jemmy,  shaking 
her  cordially  by  the  hand,  “and  whisper,  darlin’,” 
said  he,  pulling  his  mouth  close  to  her  ear  and 
speaking  so  as  that  he  might  not  be  heard  by 
others,  “I  hope  to  see  you  my  daughter-in-law  yet, 
if  I could  only  get  that  boy  beyant  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  you.” 

Or]  speaking  he  turned  his  eyes  on  Hycy,  who 
raised  himself  up,  and  assuming  his  best  looks  inti- 
mated his  consciousiiess  of  being  the  object  of  his 
father’s  allusion  to  him.  He  then  stepped  over  to 
where  she  stood,  and  extending  his  hand  with  an 
air  of  gallantry  and  good  humor  said,  “1  hope 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


246 


Mi«s  Cavan agh,  who  lias  so  far  honored  our  worthy 
father,  won’t  refuse  to  honor  the  son.” 

Kathleen,  who  had  blushed  at  his  father’s 
words,  now  bluslied  more  deeply  still ; because  in 
this  instance  there  was  added  to  the  blush  of  mod- 
esty that  of  offended  pride  at  liis  unseasonable 
presumption. 

“ Tliis,  Mr.  Hycy,”  she  replied,  ‘‘  is  neither  a time 
nor  a place  for  empty  compliments.  When  the  son 
becomes  as  worthy  as  the  lather,  I’ll  shake  hands 
with  him;  but  not  till  that  time  comes.” 

On  returning  to  the  place  she  had  left,  her  eyes 
met  those  of  Bryan,  and  for  a period  that  estimable 
and  true-hearted  young  fellow  forgot  both  grief 
and  sorrow  in  the  rush  of  rapturous  love  which 
poured  its  unalloyed  sense  of  happiness  into  his 
heart.  Hycy,  however,  felt  mortified,  and  bit  his 
lip  with  vexation.  To  a young  man  possessed  of 
excessive  vanity  the  repulse  was  the  more  humiliat- 
ing in  proportion  to  its  publicity.  Gerald  Cava- 
nagh  was  as  deeply  offended  as  Ilycy,  and  his 
wife  could  not  help  exclaiming  aloud,  “Kath- 
leen! what  do  you  mane?  1 declare  I’m  ashamed 
of  you  ! ” 

Kathleen,  however,  sat  down  beside  her  sister, 
and  the  matter  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  stir 
and  bustle  wdiich  preceded  the  setting  out  of  the 
funeral. 

This  was  indeed  a trying  and  heart-rending  scene. 
The  faithful  wife,  the  virtuous  mother,  the  kind 
friend,  and  the  pious  Christian,  was  now  about  to 
be  removed  for  ever  from  that  domestic  scene  which 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


247 


her  fidelity,  her  virtue,  her  charity,  and  her  piety, 
had  filled  with  peace,  and  love,  and  happiness.  As 
the  coffin,  which  had  been  resting  upon  two  chairs, 
was  al)out  to  be  removed,  the  grief  of  her  family  be- 
came loud  and  vehement. 

“Oh,  Bridget !”  exclaimed  her  husband,  “and  is 
it  come  to  this  at  last ! And  you  are  lavin’  us  (or 
evermore!  Don’t  raise  the  coffin,”  lie  proceeded, 
“ don’t  raise  it.  Oh!  let  us  not  part  wid  her  till 
to-morrow ; let  us  know  that  she’s  undher  the  same 
roof  wid  us  until  then.  An’,  merciful  F'ather,  when 
I think  where  you’re  goin’  to  bring  her  to  ! Oh  ! 
there  lies  the  heart  now  widout  one  motion — dead 
and  cowld— Ihe  heart  that  loved  us  all  as  no  other 
heart  ever  did  ! Bridget,  my  wife,  don’t  you  hear 
me?  But  tlie  day  was  tliat  you’d  hear  me,  an’  that 
your  kind  an’  lovin’  eye  would  turn  on  me  wid  that 
smile  that  was  never  broken.  Where  is  the  wdfe 
that  w^as  true  ? Where  is  the  lovin’  mother,  the 
charitable  heart  to  the  poor  and  desolate,  and  the 
hand  that  was  ever  ready  to  aid  them  that  was  in 
distress?  Where  are  they  all  now?  There,  dead 
and  cowld  forever,  in  that  coffin.  What  has  be- 
come of  my  wife,  I say?  What  is  death  at  all,  to 
take  all  we  love  from  us  this  way?  But  sure  God 
forgive  me  for  saying  so,  for  isn’t  it  the  will  of  God  ? 
but  oh  ! it  is  the  heaviest  of  all  thrials  to  lose  such 
a woman  as  she  was !” 

Old  grandfather,  as  lie  was  called,  had  latterly 
become  very  feeble,  and  was  barely  able  to  be  out 
of  bed  on  that  occasion.  When  the  tumult  reached 
the  room  where  he  sat  with  some  of  the  aged  neigh- 


248 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


bors,  he  inquired  what  had  occasioned  it,  and  being 
told  that  the  coffin  was  about  to  be  removed  to  the 
hearse,  he  rose  up. 

“ That  is  Tom’s  voice  I hear,”  said  he,  “ and  I 
must  put  an  end  to  this.”  He  accordingly  made  Ids 
appearance  rather  unexpectedly  among  tliem,  and 
approaching  his  s«m  said,  putting  his  liand  command- 
ingly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  looking  in  his  face  with 
a solemn  consciousness  of  authority  that  was  irre- 
sistible, ‘‘  I command  you,  Tom,  to  stop.  It’s  not 
many  commands  that  I’ll  ever  give  you — maybe  this 
will  be  the  last — and  it’s  not  many  ever  I had  occa- 
sion to  give  you,  but  now  I command  you  to  stop 
and  let  the  funeral  go  on.”  He  paused  for  a short 
time  and  looked  upon  the  features  of  his  son  with  a 
full  sense  of  what  was  due  to  his  authority.  Ilis 
great  age,  his  white  hairs,  his  venerable  looks  and 
bearing,  and  the  reverence  which  the  tremulous  but 
earnest  tones  of  his  voice  were  calculated  to  inspire, 
filled  his  son  with  awe,  and  he  was  silent. 

“Father,”  said  he,  “I  will ; I’ll  try  and  obey  you 
—I  will.” 

“ God  bless  you  and  comfort  you,  my  dear  son,” 
said  the  old  man.  “ Keep  silence,  now,”  he  proceed- 
ed. addressing  the  others,  “and  bring  the  coffin  to 
the  hearse  at  wanst.  And  may  God  strengthen  and 
support  you  all,  for  ii’s  I that  knows  your  loss  ; but 
like  a good  mother,  as  she  was,  she  has  left  none  but 
good  and  dutiful  child  re’  behind  her.” 

Poor  Dora,  during  the  whole  morning,  had  impos- 
ed a task  upon  heivelf  that  was  greater  than  her 
affectionate  and  sorrowing  heart  could  bear.  She 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA. 


249 


was  very  pale  and  exhausted  by  the  force  of  wliat 
s])e  had  felt,  and  iier  excessive  weeping;  but  it  was 
observed  that  she  now  aj)peared  to  manifest  a great- 
er degree  of  fortitude  than  any  of  the  re^t.  Slill, 
during  this  assumed  calmness,  llie  dear  girl,  every 
now  and  then,  could  not  help  uttering  a short  con- 
vulsive sob,  that  indicated  at  once  her  physical  de- 
bility and  extraordinary  grief.  She  was  evidently 
incapable  of  entering  into  conversation,  or  at  least 
averse  to  it,  a«id  was  consequently  very  silent  during 
the  wliole  morning.  As  they  stooped,  however,  to 
remove  the  coffin,  she  threw  herself  upon  it,  exclaim- 
ing, “ Mother,  it's  your  own  Dora — mother — mother 
— don’t,  motlier — don’t  lave  me — don’t — I won’t  let 
lier  go — I won’t  let  her  go  ! I — I — ” Even  before 
siie  could  utter  the  words  she  intended  to  say,  her 
liead  sank  down,  and  her  pale  but  beautiful  cheek 
lay  exactly  beside  the  name,  Bridget  M’Mahon,  that 
was  upon  it. 

“ Tlie  poor  child  has  fainted,”  they  exclaimed, 
“ bring  her  to  the  fresh  air.” 

Ere  any  one  had  time,  however,  to  raise  her,  James 
Cavauagh  rushed  over  to  tlie  coffin,  and  seizing  lier 
in  his  arms,  bore  her  to  the  street,  where  he  placed 
lier  upon  one  of  the  chairs  that  had  been  left  there 
to  support  the  coffin  until  keened  over  by  the  rela- 
tives and  friends,  previous  to  its  bt*ing  plactM  in  the 
hearse;  for  such  is  the  custom.  There  is  sometldng 
exceedingly  alarming  in  a swoon  to  a person  who 
W'ilnesses  it  for  the  first  lime ; wliich  was  the  case 
with  James  Cavanagh.  Having  placed  her  on  the 
chair,  he  looked  wildly  upon  her;  then  as  wildly 


250 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


upon  those  who  were  crowding  round  him.  “What 
ails  her  ? ” he  exclaimed, — “ what  ails  her  ? — she  is 
dead  ! — she  is  dead  ! Dora  — Dora  dear — Dora  dear, 
can’t  you  spake  or  hear  me  ? ” 

Whilst  he  pronounced  the  words,  a shower  of 
tears  gusli ed  rapidly  from  his  eyes  and  fell  upon  her 
beaulilul  features,  and  in  the  impressive  tenderness 
of  the  moment,  he  caught  her  to  his  heart,  and  with 
rapturous  distraction  and  despair  kissed  her  lips 
and  exclaimed,  “ Siie  is  dead  ! — she  is  dead  ! — an’ 
all  that’s  in  the  world  is  nothing  to  the  love  1 had 
for  her ! ” 

“Stand  aside,  James,”  said  his  sister  Kathleen; 
“leave  this  instantly.  Forgive  him,  Bryan,”  slie 
said,  looking  at  her  lover  with  a burning  brow,  “he 
doesn’t  know  what  he  is  doing.” 

“ No,  Kathleen,”  replied  her  brother,  with  a chok- 
ing voice,  “ neither  for  you  nor  lor  him,  nor  for  a 
human  crature,  will  I leave  her.” 

“James,  I’m  ashamed  of  you,”  said  Hanna,  rai> 
idly  and  energetically  disengaging  his  arms  from 
about  the  insensible  girl;  “ have  y’^ou  no  respect  for 
Dora  ? If  you  love  her  as  you  say,  you  could  hard- 
ly act  as  you  did.” 

“ Why,”  said  he,  staring  at  her,  “ what  did  I do  ? 

Bryan  took  him  firmly  by  the  arm,  and  said, 
“ Come  away,  you  foolish  boy;  I don’t  think  you 
know  what  you  did.  Leave  her  to  the  girls.  Tiiere, 
she  is  recoverin’.” 

She  did  soon  recover;  but  weak  and  broken  down 
as  she  was,  no  persuasion  nor  even  authority  could 
prevail  upon  her  to  remain  at  home.  Jemmy  Burke, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


251 


who  had  intended  to  offer  Kathleen  a seat  upon  his 
car,  wliich,  of  course,  slie  would  not  have  accepted, 
was  now  outmanoeuvred  by  his  w^fe,  who  got  D«>ra 
besiile  herself,  after  having  placed  a sister  of  Toni 
M’Mahon’s  beside  him. 

At  length  the  coffin  w\as  brought  out,  and  the 
keene  raised  over  it,  on  the  conclusion  of  which  it 
was  placed  in  the  hearse,  and  the  procession  began 
to  move  on. 

Tiiere  is  nothing  in  the  rural  districts  of  this  coun- 
try that  so  clearly  indicates  the  respect  entertained 
for  any  family  as  the  number  of  persons  which, 
when  a death  takes  place  in  it,  attend  the  funeral. 
In  such  a case,  the  length  of  the  procession  is  the 
test  of  esteem  in  wdiich  the  party  has  been  held. 
Mrs.  M’Mahon’s  funeral  w^as  little  less  than  a mile 
long.  All  the  respectable  farmers  and  bodaghs,  as 
they  call  them,  or  half-sirs  in  the  jiarish,  w^ere  in  at- 
tendance as  a mark  of  respect  for  the  virtues  of  the 
deceased,  and  of  esteem  for  the  integrity  and  upright 
spirit  of  the  family  that  had  been  deprived  of  her  so 
unexpectedly. 

Ilycy  and  his  friend,  Harry  Clinton,  of  course  rode 
together,  Finigan  the  schoolmaster  keeping  as  near 
tliem  as  he  could  ; but  not  so  near  as  to  render  his 
presence  irksome  to  them,  when  he  saw  that  they  had 
no  wish  for  it. 

Well,  Harry,”  said  Ids  companion,  “ what  do  you 
think  of  the  last  scene?” 

“You  allude  to  Cavanngirs  liandsome  young  son, 
and  the  very  pretty  girl  that  fainted,  poor  thing  I” 

“ Of  course  1 do,”  replied  Hycy. 


252 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“Why,”  said  the  other,  “ I think  the  whole  thing 
was  very  simple,  and  consequently  very  natural. 
The  young  fellow,  \\ho  is  desperately  in  love,  there 
is  no  doubt  of  that,  thought  she  had  died  ; and  upon 
my  soul,  Hycy,  there  is  a freshness  and  a purity  in 
the  strongest  raptures  of  such  a passion,  that  neither 
you  nor  I can  dream  of.  1 think,  however,  I can  un- 
derstand, or  guess  at  rather,  the  fulness  of  heart  and 
the  tenderness  by  which  he  w^as  actuated.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Cavanagh  ?”  a^ked 
Hycy,  with  more  of  interest  than  he  had  probably 
ever  felt  in  her  before. 

“ What  do  I think  ?”  said  the  other,  looking  at 
him  with  a good  deal  of  surprise.  “ What  can  I 
think?  Wiiat  could  any  man  that  has  either  taste 
or  common  sense  think?  Faith,  Hycy,  to  be  plain 
with  you,  I think  her  one  of  the  linest  girls,  if  not 
the  very  finest,  I ever  saw.  Heavens!  what  would 
not  that  girl  be  if  she  had  received  the  advantages 
of  a polished  and  comprehensive  educatiim  ?” 

“ She  is  very  much  of  a lady  as  it  is,”  added 
Hycy,  “and  has  great  natural  dignity  and  unstudied 
grace,  altln nigh  I must  say  that  she  has  left  me 
under  no  reason  to  feel  any  particular  obligations  to 
her.” 

“ And  yet  there  is  a delicate  and  graceful  purity 
in  the  beauty  of  little  Dora,  which  is  quite  captivat- 
intr,”  observed  Clinton. 

“Very  well,”  re|>lied  the  other,  “I  make  you  a 
present  of  the  two  lair  rustics;  give  me  the  interest- 
ing Maria.  Ah,  Harry,  see  what  education  and  man- 
ner do.  Maria  is  a delightful  girl.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


253 


She  is  an  amiable  and  a good  girl,”  said  her 
brother  ; “ but  in  point  of  personal  attractions  quite 
inferior  to  either  of  the  two  we  have  been  speaking 
of.” 

“ Finigan,”  said  Hycy — I beg  your  pardon,  O’- 
Fiiiigan — the  great  O'Finigan,  Philomath — are  you 
a good  judge  of  beauty  ? ” 

“ Wliy,  then,  Mr.  Hycy,”  replied  the  pedagogue, 
“ I think  above  all  subjects,  that  a thorough  un- 
derstanding of  that  same  comes  most  natural  to  an 
Irishman.  It  is  a pleasant  topic  to  discuss  at  all 
times.” 

“ Much  pleasanter  than  marriage,  I think,”  said 
Clinton,  smiling. 

“ Ah,  Mr.  Clinton,”  replied  the  other  with  a shrug, 
‘‘  de  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum  ; but  as  touching  beau- 
ty, in  what  sense  do  you  ask  my  opinion  ? ” 

“ AVheiher  now,  for  instance,  would  your  learned 
taste  prefer  Miss  Cavanagh  or  Miss  Dora  M’Mahon  ? 
and  give  your  reasons.” 

“ Taste,  Mr.  Hycy,  is  never,  or  at  least  seldom 
guided  by  reason ; the  question,  however,  is  a fair 
one,” 

“ One  at  least  on  a fair  subject,”  observed  Clinton. 

“ A~ery  well  said,  Mr.  Clinton,”  replied  the  school- 
master, with  a grin — “there  goes  wit  for  us,  no  less 
— and  originality  besides.  See  what  it  is  to  have  a 
great  janius  ! — ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” 

“Well,  Mr.  O'Finigan,”  pursued  Hycy,  “ btit 
about  the  ladies  ? You  have  not  given  us  your 
opinion.” 

“ Why,  then,  they  are  both  highly  gifted  wid 


254 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


beauty,  and  strongly  calculated  to  excite  the  amor- 
ous sentiments  of  refined  and  elevated  alfection.” 

“Well  done,  Mr.  Plantation,”  said  Hycy;  “you 
are  i m pr« > v i ng — proceed . ” 

“Miss  Cavanagh,  then,”  continued  Finigan,  “Pd 
say  was  a goddess,  and  Miss  M'Mahon  her  attendant 
nymph.” 

“Good  again,  O’Finigan,”  said  Clinton;  “you 
are  evidently  at  home  in  tlie  mythology.” 

“Among  the  goddesses,  at  any  rate,”  replied  the 
master,  with  another  grin. 

“Provided  there’s  no  matrimony  in  the  question,” 
said  Clinton. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Clinton,  don’t,  if  you  please.  That’s  a 
subject  you  may  respect  yet  as  much  as  I do;  but 
regarding  my  opinion  of  the  two  beauties  in  ques- 
tion, why  was  it  solicited,  Mr.  Hycy?”  he  added, 
turning  to  that  worthy  gentleman. 

“Faith  Pm  not  able  to  say,  most  learned  Philo- 
math ; only  is  it  true  that  Bryan,  the  clodhopper, 
lias  matrimonial  designs  upon  the  fair  daughter  of 
the  regal  Cavanagh  ? ” 

“ Sic  vuU  fama,  Mr.  Hycy,  upon  condition  that  a 
certain  accomplished  young  gentleman,  whose  sur- 
name commences  with  the  second  letter  of  the  alpha- 
bet, won’t  ofibr — for  in  that  case,  it  is  affirmed,  that 
the  clodhopper  should  travel.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
Clinton,  I met  your  uncle  and  Mr.  Fethertonge 
riding  up  towards  Aliadarra  this  morning.” 

“Indeed!”  exclaimed  both;  and  as  they  spoke, 
each  cast  a look  of  inquiry  at  the  other. 

“What  could  bring  them  to  Ahadarra,  gentle- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


255 


men?”  asked  Finigan,  in  a tone  of  voice  which 
rendered  it  a nice  point  to  determine  wlietlier  it  was 
a simple  love  of  knowledge  that  induced  him  to  put 
the  question,  or  some  other  motive  lhat  might  have 
lain  within  a kind  oi  ironical  gravity  that  accom- 
panied it, 

“ Why,  I suppose  a pair  of  good  horses, replied 
II  ycy,  “and  their  own  inclination,” 

“ It  was  not  the  last,  at  all  events,”  said  Finigan, 
“that  ever  brought  a thief  to  the  gallows — iia!  hal 
ha  ! we  must  be  facetious  sometimes,  INIr.  TTycy.” 

“You  appear  to  enjoy  that  joke,  Mr.  Finigan,” 
said  Ilycy,  rather  tartly. 

“Faith,”  replied  Finigan,  “it’s  a joke  that  very 
few  do  enjoy,  I think.” 

“What  is?” 

“Why,  the  gallows,  sir— lia  ! ha!  ha!  but  don't 
forget  the  O if  you  pi  lise — ever  and  always  the  big 
O before  Finigan— ha  ! ha!  ha! 

“Come,  Clinton,”  sad  Ilycy,  “move  on  a little. 
T> — n tliat  fellow  ! ” he  cried — “he’s  a sneering  scoun- 
drel ; and  I’m  half  inclined  to  think  he  has  more  in 
him  than  one  would  be  apt  to  give  him  credit  for.” 

“By  tlie  way,  what  could  the  visit  to  Ahadarra 
mean  ?”  asked  Clinton.  “Do  you  know  anything 
about  it,  Hycy  ? ” 

“ Not  about  this;  but  it  is  very  likely  that  I shall 
cause  them,  or  one  of  them  at  least,  to  visit  it  on 
some  other  occasion  ere  long;  and  that’s  all  I can 
say  now.  Curse  that  keening^  what  a barbarous 
practice  it  is  ! ” • 

“I  think  not,”  said  the  other;  “ on  the  contrary, 


256 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


I am  of  opinion  that  tliere’s  something  strikingly 
wild  aitd  poelic:il  in  it — sometliing  that  argues  us 
Irish  to  be  a people  of  deep  feeling  and  strong  im- 
agination— two  of  tlie  liigliest  gifts  of  intellect.” 

“All  stuff,”  replied  the  accomplished  Ilycy,  who, 
among  his  other  excellent  qualities,  could  never 
afford  to  speak  a good  word  to  his  country  or  her 
people.  “All  stuft’and  barbarous  howding  that  we 
learned  from  the  wolves  wlien  we  liad  them  in  Ire- 
land. Here  we  are  at  tlie  graveyard.” 

“ llycy,”  said  his  friend,  “ it  never  occured  to  me 
to  think  of  asking  wdiat  religion  you  believe  in.” 

“ It  is  said,”  replied  Hycy,  “that  a fool  may  pro- 
pose a question  which  a wise  man  can’t  answer.  As 
to  religion,  I liave  not  yet  made  any  determination 
among  the  variety  that  is  abroad.  Aman,  however, 
can  be  at  rio  loss;  for  as  every  one  of  them  is  the 
best,  it  matters  little  wdiich  of  them  he  chooses.  I 
think  it  likely  I shall  go  to  church  with  your  sister, 
should  we  ever  do  matrimony  together.  To  a man 
like  me  who’s  indifferent,  respectability  alone  ought 
to  determine.” 

Clinton  made  no  reply  to  this;  and  in  a few  min- 
utes afterward  they”  entered  the  churchyard,  the 
coffin  having  been  taken  out  of  the  hearse  and 
borne  on  the  shoulders  of  her  four  nearest  relatives, 
— Tom  Id’Mahon,  in  deep  silence  and  affliction,  pre- 
ceding it  as  chief  mourner. 

Tlnu-e  is  a prostrating  stupor,  or  rather  a kind  of 
agoniziiig  d«  lirium  that  comes  over  the  mind  when 
w”e  are  forced  to  mingle  with  crowds,  and  have  our 
ears  filled  with  the  voices  of  lamentation,  the  sounds 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


2o7 

of  the  death-bell,  or  the  murmur  of  many  people  in 
conversation.  ’Twas  thus  M’Maiion  felt  during  the 
whole  procession.  Sometimes  he  thought  it  was  re- 
lief, and  again  he  felt  as  if  it  was  only  the  mere 
alternation  of  suffering  into  a sharper  and  more 
Jreadfiil  sorrow;  for,  change  as  it  might,  there  lay 
tugging  at  ins  heart  the  terrible  consciousness  th.at 
she,  the  bride  of  his  youthful  love  and  the  companion 
of  his  larger  and  more  manly  affection — the  blame- 
less wife  and  the  stainless  woman — was  about  to  be 
consigned  to  the  grave,  and  that  his  eyes  in  this  life 
must  never  rest  u))on  her  again. 

When  the  coffin  was  about  to  be  lowered  down, 
all  the  family,  one  after  another,  clasped  their  arms 
about  it,  and  kissed  it  with  a passionate  fervf>r  of 
grief  that  it  was  impossible  tovyitness  with  firmness. 
At  length  her  liusband,  who  had  been  looking  on, 
approached  it,  and  clasping  it  in  his  arms  like  the 
rest,  he  said — for  ever  and  for  ever,  and  for  ever, 
Bridget — but,  no,  gracious  God,  no ; the  day  will 
come,  Bridget,  when  I will  be  with  you  here — I don’t 
care  now  how  soon.  My  happiness  is  gone ^ ast hoi* e 
life  is  nothing  to  me  now — all’s  empty; 
and  there’s  neither  joy,  nor  ease  of  mind,  nor  com- 
fort for  me  any  more.  An’  this  is  our  last  partin’ — 
this  is  our  last  farewell,  Bridget  dear;  but  from  this 
out  my  liope  is  to  be  with  you  here  ; and  if  nothing 
else  on  my  bed  of  death  was  to  console  me,  it  would 
be,  and  it  will  be,  that  you  and  I will  then  sleep 
together,  never  to  be  parted  more.  That  will  be  my 
consrdation.” 

“Now,  father  dear,”  said  Bryan,  “ we  didn’t  at- 


258 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


tempt  to  Stop  or  prevent  you,  and  I hope  you’ll  be 
Bornetliing  cairn  an  1 come  away  fi)r  a little.” 

“Best  of  sons!  but  aren’t  you  all  g(»od,  for  how 
could  you  beollrerwise  with  her  blood  in  your  veins? 
— bring  me  away;  come  you,  Dora  darlin’ — ay, 
that’s  it — sup|)ort  the  blessed  child  between  you  and 
Hanna,  Kathleen  dar  lin’.  Oh,  wait,  wait  till  we  get 
out  of  hearin’,  or  the  noise  of  the  clay  failin’  on  the 
coffin  will  kill  me.” 

They  then  walked  to  some  distance,  where  they 
remained  until  the  “ narrow  house”  was  nearly  filled, 
after  which  they  once  more  surrounded  it  until  the 
last  sod  was  beaten  in.  This  being  over,  the  sor- 
rowing group  sought  their  way  home  with  breaking 
hearts,  leaving  behind  them  her  whom  they  had 
loved  so  well  reposing  in  the  cold  and  unbroken 
solitude  of  the  grave. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


259 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A MYSTERIOUS  LETTER  -IIYCY  DISCLAIMS  SOBRIETY 
AUADARRA’s  in  FOR  IT. 

One  day  about  a month  after  Mrs.  M'Mahon’s 
funeral,  Harry  Clinton  was  on  liis  way  to  Jemmy 
Burke’s,  when  he  met  Nanny  Peety  going  towards 
Ball  ymacan. 

“Well,  Nanny,”  he  inquired,  “where  are  you 
bound  lof',  now  ? ” 

“To  the  post  office  with  a letter  from  Masther 
Ilycy,  sir.  I wanted  him  to  tell  me  wlio  it  was  for, 
but  he  would  not.  Will  you,  Mr.  Clinton  ? ” and 
she  hehi  out  the  letter  to  him  as  she  spoke. 

•Clinton  felt  a good  deal  surprised  to  see  that  it 
was  addressed  to  his  uncle,  and  also  written  in  a 
hand  which  he  did  not  recognize  to  be  tliatof  llycy 
Burke. 

“ Are  you  sure,  Nanny,”  he  asked,  “ that  this  let- 
ter was  written  by  Mr.  llycy?” 

“ Didn’t  1 see  him,  sir?”  she  replied  ; “ he  wrote 
it  before  my  eyes  a minnte  before  he  handed  it  to 
me.  Who  is  it  for,  Mr.  Clinton?” 

“ Why  are  you  so  very  anxious  to  know,  Nanny?” 
he  inquired. 

“Sorra  thing,”  she  replied,  “but  curosity — a wo- 
man's curosity,  you  know.” 

“Well,  Nany,  you  know,  or  ought  to  know,  that 
it  would  not  be  right  in  me  to  tell  you  who  the  let- 


260 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


ter  is  for,  when  Mr.  Ilycy  did  not  think  proper  to 
do  so.” 

“ True  enough,  sir,”  she  r^  plied  ; “ an’  I beg  your 
pardon,  IMr.  Clinton,  for  asking  you;  indeed  il  was 
Avrong  in  me  to  tell  you  wlio  it  came  from  even,  t)e- 
kaise  Mr.  Ilycy  told  me  not  to  let  any  one  see  it, 
only  jist  to  slip  it  into  the  post  office  unknownst,  as 
I passed  it;  an’  that  was  what  made  me  wish  to 
know  who  it  was  goin’  to,  since  the  thruth  must  be 
tould.” 

Clinton  in  turn  now  felt  his  curiosity  stimulated 
as  to  the  contents  of  tliis  mysterious  epistle,  and  he 
resolved  to  watch,  if  possible,  what  elfect  the  peru- 
sal of  it  might  have  on  his  uncle,  otiierwise  he  was 
never  likely  to  hear  a syllable  that  was  contained  in 
it,  tliat  worthy  relative  being  from  official  necessity, 
a most  uncommunicative  person  in  all  his  proceed- 
ings. 

“ I wonder,”  observed  Clinton,  “ that  Mr.  Hycy 
would  send  to  any  one  a letter  so  slurred  and  blot- 
ted with  ink  as  that  is.” 

“ Ay,  but  he  blotted  it  purposely  himself,”  replied 
Nanny,  “ and  that  too  surprised  me,  and  made  me 
wish  to  know  what  he  could  mane  by  it.” 

“ Perhaps  it’s  a love-letter,  Nanny,”  said  Clinton, 
laughing. 

“ I would  like  to  know  who  it  is  to,  at  any  rate,” 
said  the  girl  ; “but  since  you  won't  tell  me,  sir,  I 
must  try  and  not  lose  my  rest  about  it.  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Clinton.” 

“Good-bye,  Nanny;”  and  so  they  parted. 

Young  Clinton,  who,  though  thoughtless  and  fond 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  A RR  A. 


261 


of  pleasure,  was  not  without  many  excellent  points 
o(‘ character,  began  now  to  perceive,  by  every  day’s 
suc<  essiive  iniimacy,  the  full  extent  ot*  Hycy  Burke’s 
l^ri»fligacy  of  morals,  and  utter  want  of  all  honorable 
principle.  Notwithstanding  this  knowledge,  iiow- 
ever,  lie  felt  it  extremely  dilHcult,  nay  almost  impos- 
sible, to  separate  himself  from  Hycy,  who  was  an 
extremely  pleasant  young  fellow,  and  a very  agree- 
able companion  when  he  jileased.  lie  had  in  fact 
gained  that  personal  ascendancy  over  him,  or  that 
licentious  influence  which  too  many  of  his  stamp  are 
notorious  for  exercising  over  better  men  thaii  them- 
selves ; and  he  found  that  he  could  not  readily  throw 
llycy  off,  without  being  considerably  a loser  by  the 
act. 

‘‘I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  his  profligacy,” 
said  he,  “ or  his  want  of  principle,  and  I shall  let  him 
know  at  all  events,  that  I will  not  abide  by  the 
agreement  or  compromise  entered  into  between  us 
Some  time  since,  at  his  father’s,  lie  shall  not  injhire 
an  honest  man  for  mo,  nor  shall  I promise  him  even 
neutrality  with  respect  to  his  j)roposal  for  my  sister 
whom  I would  rather  see  dead  a hundred  times  than 
the  wife  of  such  a fellow.” 

The  next  morning,  about  half  an  hour  before 
breakfast,  he  tohl  his  uncle  that  he  was  stepping 
into  town  and  would  bring  him  any  letters  that 
might  be  for  him  in  the  post-office.  lie  accordingly 
did  so,  and  received  two  letters,  one  Hycy’s  and 
the  other  with  the  crest  and  frank  of  the  sitiiF»g 
member  for  the  county,  wlio  was  no  other  than 
young  Chevy  dale.  His  uncle  was  at  breakfast  when 


262 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


he  handed  them  to  him,  and  we  need  hardly  say  that 
the  M.  P.  was  honored  by  instant  attention.  The 
Siili-houml  read  it  over  very  complaceritly.  “Very 
well,”  he  exclaimed;  “very  well,  iinleed,  so  far. 
Harry,  we  must  be  on  the  alert,  now  tlie  eh  ciions 
are  approaching,  and  Chevydale  will  be  stoutly  op- 
posed, it  seems.  We  must  work  for  him,  and  secure 
as  many  votes  as  we  can.  It  is  our  interest  to  do 
so,  Harry, — and  he  will  make  it  our  interest  In  sides.” 

“Has  principle  nothing  to  do  with  it,  sir?” 

“Principle!  begad,  sir,”  retorted  the  u»ic1e, 
“ there’s  no  such  tiling  as  principle — lay  that  down 
as  a fact — there’s  no  such  thing  in  this  world  as  prin- 
ciple.” 

“Well,  but  consistency,  uncle.  For  instance,  you 
know  you  always  vote  on  the  Tory  side,  and  Chevy, 
dale  is  a Liberal  and  an  Emancipator.” 

“ Consistency  is  an  d — d slull,  Harry,  aspiinciple. 
What  does  it  mean  ? why  that  if  a man’s  once  wrong 
he’s  alw^ays  to  be  wrong — that  is  just  the  amount 
of  it.  Tiiere’s  Chevydale,  for  instance,  he  has  a 
brother  who  is  a rank  Tory  and  a Conimis'*ioner  of 
Excise,  mark  that ; Chevydale  and  he  play  into  each 
other’s  hands,  and  Chevydale  some  of  these  days 
vill  sell  the  Liberals,  that  is,  if  he  can  get  good 
value  for  them.  If  I now  vote  on  the  Tory  sirle 
against  Chevydale,  his  brother  the  Tory  Commis- 
sioner will  be  my  enemy  in  spite  of  all  his  Toryism  ; 
but  if  I vote  and  exert  myself  for  Chevydale  tiie 
Lioeral,  I make  his  Tory  of  a brother  niy^  friend  for 
life.  And  now,  talk  to  me  about  principle,  or  consis- 
tency either.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA. 


263 


His  nephew  could  not  but  admit,  that  the  instan- 
ces aduced  by  his  uncle  were  admirably  calculated 
to  illustrate  his  argument,  and  he  accordingly  pur- 
sued the  subject  no  fun  her. 

“Ay!”  exclaimed  the  Still-hound,  “whatd — d 
scrawl  have  we  got  here?  Ay,  ay,  why  this  is  bet- 
ter than  I expected.” 

“ What  is  better,  uncle  ? ” said  the  nephew,  ven- 
turing an  experiment. 

“ Why,”  replied  the  sagacious  old  rascal,  “ for  you 
to  mind  your  business,  if  you  have  any,  and  to  let 
me  mind  mine,  without  making  impertinent  inquiries. 
Master  Harry.”  With  these  words  he  went  and 
locked  up  both  letters  in  his  desk.  As  we,  however, 
possess  the  power  of  unlocking  his  desk,  and  reading 
the  letter  to  boot,  we  now  take  the  liberty  of  laying 
it  in  all  its  graphic  beauty  and  elegance  before  our 
readers — 

“ To  Mistiier  Kuntox,  Sir, 

“ Af  you  go  this  nite  bout  seven  clocks  or  there- 
away, you’d  find  a Still-IIed  an’  Worm  At  full  work, 
in  they  upper  End  iv  Tiie  brown  Glen  in  Ahadarra, 
Sir,  thrum  wan  iv  Die  amstrung’s  Orringemeu  an’  a 
fren  to  the  axshize.” 

The  guager  after  breakfast  again  resumed  the  con- 
versation as  follows : — 

“Have  you  changed  your  mind,  Harry,  regarding 
the  Excise?  because  if  you  have  I think  I may  soon 
have  an  opportunity  of  getting  you  a berth.” 

“No,  sir,  I feel  an  insurmountable  repugnance  to 
the  life  of  a Still — hem.” 


264 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“Go  OH,  ran n,  to  the  life  of  a Still-hunter.  Very 
well.  Your  father’s  death  last  year  left  you  nrai 
your  sister  there  dependent  upon  me,  for  the  present 
at  least ; for  what  could  a medical  man  only  ri'ing 
into  practice,  with  a family  to  support  and  educate, 
leave  behind  1dm?” 

“ Unfortunately,  sir,  it  is  too  true.” 

“ In  tl»e  mean  time  you  may  leave  ^ ur* fortunate'* 
out,  and  thank  God  tinit  you  had  the  shelter  of  my 
roof  to  come  to;  and  be  on  your  knees,  too,  that  I 
Avas  a bachelor.  Well,  1 am  glad  myself  that  I had 
and  have  a home  for  you ; but  still,  Harry,  you  ought 
to  think  of  doing  something  for  yourself;  for  I may 
not  live  always,  you  know,  and  besides  Iain  not  rich. 
You  don’t  relish  surgery,  you  say  ?” 

“ I can’t  endure  it,  uncle.” 

“ But  you  like  farming  ?” 

“ Above  every  otiier  mode  of  life.” 

“Very  well,  I think  it’s  likely  I shall  have  a good 
farm  to  put  you  into  before  long.” 

“Thank  you,  uncle.  You  may  rest  assured  that 
both  Maria  and  myself  are  fully  sensible  of  the  kind- 
ness we  have  experienced  at  your  hands.” 

“Small  thanks  to  me  for  that.  Who  the  devil 
would  I assist,  if  not  my  brother’s  orphans?  It  is 
true,  I despise  the  world,  but  still  we  must  make 
our  use  of  it.  I know  it  consists  of  only  knaves  and 
fools.  Now,  I respect  the  knaves  ; for  if  it  weren’t 
for  their  roguery,  the  world  would  never  work  ; it 
would  stand  still  and  l)e  useless.  The  fools  I des- 
pise, not  so  much  because  they  are  fools,  as  because 
they  Avotild  be  knaves  if  they  could ; so  that,  you 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


265 


see  I return  again  to  my  favorite  principle  of  no  ho- 
iiecity.  1 am  going  to  13allymacau  on  business,  so 
good-bye  lo  you  both.’* 

Uncle,”  said  his  nephew,  “ one  word  with  you 
before  you  go.” 

“ Wiiat  is  it  ?” 

Would  you  suffer  me  to  offer  you  a word  of 
advice,  and  will  you  excuse  me  for  taking  such  a 
liberty  with  a man  of  your  experience?” 

Certainly,  Hairy,  and  siiall  always  feel  thankful 
to  any  one  that  gives  me  good  advice.” 

“ if  this  is  not  good  advice,  it  is  at  least  well 
intended.” 

“Let  us  hear  it  first,  and  then  we  shall  judge 
better.” 

“ You  say  you  will  procure  me  a farm.  Now, 
uncle,  there  is  one  thing  I should  wish  in  connexion 
with  that  transaction,  which  is,  that  you  would  have 
no  unherhand — hem! — no  private  understanding  of 
any  kind  with  Mr. — Hycy  Burke.” 

“Me  a private  understanding  with  Ilycy  Burke  ! 
What  in  the  devil’s  name  has  put  such  a crotchet  as 
that  into  your  head  ? ’ 

“ I only  speak  as  I do,  because  I believe  you  have 
received  a private  communication  from  him.” 

“ Have  I,  faith ! If  so  I am  obliged  to  you — but 
I am  simply  ignorant  of  the  fact  you  mention  ; for, 
with  my  own  knowledge,!  never  received  a line  from 
him  in  my  life.” 

“Then!  must  be  wrong,”  replied  Harry ; “that 
is  all.” 

“Wrong!  Certainly  you  are  wrong.  Hycy 
12 


266 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADABRA. 


Burke,  I am  told,  is  a compound  of  great  knave  and 
gross  fool,  the  knavery  rather  prevailing.  But  how 
is  this?  Are  not  you  and  he  inseparable?” 

“ He  is  a companion,  uncle,  but  not  a friend 
in  the  true  sense — nor,  indeed,  in  any  sense  of 
that  word.  I spoke  now,  however,  wiili  reference 
to  a particular  transaction,  and  not  to  his  general 
character.” 

“ Well,  then,  I have  no  underhand  dealings  with 
him,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  them,  nor  ever  had. 
I never  to  my  knowledge  received  a line  from  him 
in  my  life ; but  I tell  you  that  if  he  comes  in  my 
way,  and  that  I can  make  use  of  him,  I will.  Per- 
haps he  may  serve  us  in  the  Elections.  Have  you 
anything  else  to  ask?” 

“ No  sir,”  replied  Harry,  langliing.  “ Only  I hope 
you  will  excuse  me  for  the  liberty  I took.” 

“Certainly,  with  all  my  heart,  and  you  shall  be 
always  welcome  to  take  the  same  liberty.  Good- 
bye,  again.” 

Clinton  now  felt  satisfied  that  Hycy’s  letter  to  his 
uncle  was  an  anonymous  one,  and  although  he  could 
not  divine  its  contents,  he  still  felt  assured  that  it 
was  in  some  way  connected  with  the  farm  transac- 
tion, or  at  all  events  detrimental  to  Bryan  M’Mahon. 
lie  consequently  resolved  to  see  Hycy,  against 
whom,  or  rather  against  whose  principles  he  was  be- 
ginning to  entertain  a strong  repugnance,  and  with- 
out any  hesitation  to  repudiate  the  engagement  he 
had  entered  into  with  him. 

He  found  Ilycy  at  home,  or  rather  he  found  him 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA.  2G7 

in  conversation  with  Bat  Ilogin  behiinl  his  father’s 
gaf»]t-n. 

“ Wiiat  was  that  ruffian  wanting  witli  you,  Hycy, 
il  il’s  a lair  qiusiion?’* 

“Pcrfecily,’  said  Hycy,  ‘‘from  you;  but  not  in 
sooth  from  your  worthy  uncle/’ 

“ How  is  lliat?” 

“Simply,  he  wants  to  know  if  I'd  buy  a keg  of 
Poteen  which,  it  seems,  he  lus  to  sell.  I declined 
because  I liave  a sufficiently  ample  stock  of  it  on 
hamls.” 

My  uncle,”  said  Clinton,  “ prefers  it  to  any  other 
sj»iiils;  indeed,  at  home  he  never  drinks  any  other, 
and  whenever  he  dines,  thanks  those  who  give  it  the 
preference.” 

“ C me  in,  and  let  us  have  a glass  of  poteen 
grog,  in  the  mean  time,”  said  Hycy,  “for  it’s  bet- 
ter still  in  grog  than  in  punch.  It’s  a famous 
relish  f >r  a slice  of  ham  ; but,  as  tlie  Scotch  saj^, 
baith’s  best.” 

Having  discussed  tlie  grog  and  ham,  the  conver- 
sation went  on. 

“ Hycy,”  proceeded  his  companion,  “ with  respect 
to  that  foolish  arrangement  or  bargain  w^e  made 
the  odier  night,  I won’t  liave  any  tiling  to  say* 
or  do  in  it.  You  sliall  impoverisli  or  ruin  no  honest 
man  on  my  account.  1 was  lialf  drunk  or  whole 
drunk,  othervyise  I wouldn’t  have  listened  to  such  a 
prt)posal.” 

“ Wha  do  you  mean  ?”  said  Hycy,  with  a look  of 
very  natural  snrpiise,  and  a pause  of  some  time,  “I 
don't  understand  you.” 


268 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Don  t you  remember  the  foolish  kind  of  stipula- 
tion we  entiM-ed  into  with  reference  to  Al'Mahon’s 
farm,  of  Aliadarra,  on  ilie  one  hand,  and  my  most 
amiable  (d n me  but  I ought  to  be  horsewhip- 

ped for  ii)  sister  on  llie  other?” 

“ No,”  replied  IIycy,“  devil  a syllable.  My  word 
and  honor,  Harry.” 

“Well,  if  you  don’t,  then,  it’s  all  right.  You 
didn’t  appear  to  be  tipsy,  though.” 

“ I never  do.  Hurry.  In  that  rei^pect  I'm  tlie 

d dest,  hypocriticil  rascal  in  Europe.  I’m  a 

perfect  j►heno^leuon ; for,  in  proportion  as  I get 
drunk  in  intellect,  I get  sober  botli  in  my  carriage 
and  appearance.  However,  in  Heaven’s  name  let 
me  kiMW  the  bargain  if  there  was  one?” 

“No,  no,”  replied  his  fiiend,  “it  was  a disgrace- 
ful affair  on  both  sides,  and  the  less  that’s  said  of  it 
the  better.” 

By  a good  deal  of  persuasion,  however,  and 
an  additional  glass  of  grog,  he  prevailed  on  Clin- 
ton to  repeat  the  substance  of  the  stipulation;  on 
hearing  which,  as  if  for  the  first  time,  he  laughed 
very  heartily. 

“This  liquor,”  lie  proceeded,  “is  a strange  com- 
pound, and  puts  queer  notions  intoourhead.  Why, 
if  there’s  an  lionest  decent  fellow  in  Europe,  wliom 
I Would  feel  anxious  to  serve  beyond  another,  next 
to  yourself,  Harry,  it  is  Bryan  M 'Mahon.  But 
\vl)V  I should  have  spoken  so,  I can't  understand  at 
all.  In  tlie  first  place,  what  means  have  I of  injur- 
ing the  man  ? And  what  is  stronger  still,  what  in- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


269 


clination  liave  I,  or  could  have — and  wliat  is  still 
belter — slioiild  liave?” 

“I  do  assure  you  it  did  not  raise  you  in  my 
opinion.* 

“ Faith,  no  wonder,  Ilarrj”,  and  I am  only  sur- 
prised you  didn’t  speak  to  me  sooner  about  it. 
Si  ill,”  be  proceeded,  smiling,  “ there  is  one  porlion 
of  it  I should  not  wish  to  see  cancelled — 1 mean 
your  advocacy  with  Miss  Clinton.” 

“To  be  plain  with  you,  llycy,  I wasli  my 
hands  out  of  that  affair  too ; I won’t  promise  ad- 
vocacy.” 

“ Well,  neutrality?” 

“The  truth  is,  neither  neutrality  nor  advocacy 
would  avail  a rush.  I have  reason  to  think  that 
my  sister’s  objections  against  you  are  insuperable.” 

‘ On  what  do  they  rest?”  asked  the  other. 

“They  are  founded  upon  your  want  of  morals,” 
replied.  Chin  ton. 

“ Well,  supj)ose  I reform  my  morals?” 

“That  is,  substitute  hypocrisy  for  profligacy;  I 
fear,  Ilycy,  the  elements  of  reformation  are  rather 
slight  within  you.” 

“Seriou^ly,  you  do  me  injustice;  and,  besides,  a 
man  ought  not  to  be  judged  of  his  morals  before 
marriage,  but  after.” 

“Faith,  both  before  and  after,  in  my  opinion, 
ITvcv.  No  well-educated,  right-minded  girl  would 
marry  a man  of  depraved  morals,  knowing  him  to 
be  such.” 

“But  I really  am  not  worse  than  others,  nor  so 
bad  as  many.  Neither  have  I the  reputation  of 


270 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


being  an  immoral  man.  A little  wild  and  over-im- 
pulsive from  animal  spirits  I may  be,  but  all  that 
will  pass  otF  with  the  new  state.  No,  no,  d — n it, 
don’t  allow  Miss  Clinton  to  imbibe  such  prejudices. 
I do  not  say  that  I am  a saint;  but  I shall  settle 
down  and  bring  her  to  church  very  regularly,  and 
bear  tiie  se  moii  with  most  edifvin2C  attention.  Au- 
otiier  glass  of  grog  ?” 

“ No,  no.” 

“ But  I hope  and  trust,  my  dear  Harry,  that  you 
liave  not  been  making  imjiressions  against  me.” 

“Unquestionably  not.  I only  say  you  have  no 
chance  whatever  in  that  quarter.” 

“ Will  you  allow  me  to  try  ? ” asked  ITycy. 

“I  have  not  the  slightest  objection,”  replied  the 
other,  “ because  I know  how  it  will  result.” 

“Very  well, — thank  you  even  for  that  same,  my 
dear  Harry;  but,  seriously  speaking,  I fear  that 
neither  you  nor  I are  leading  the  kind  of  lives  we 
ought,  and  so  far  I cannot  quarrel  wilU  your  sister’s 
principles.  On  the  contrary,  the}^  enable  me  to  ap- 
])reciate  her  if  pos>«ib!e  still  more  highly  ; fora  clear 
and  pure  standard  o(  morals  in  a wife  is  not  only  the 
best  fortune  but  the  best  security  for  happiness  be- 
sides. You  might  stop  and  dine?” 

“ No,  thank  you,  it  is  impossible.  By  the  w^ay, 
I liave  already  spoiled  my  dinner  with  that  splendid 
kam  of  yours.  Giv^e  me  a call  when  in  town.” 

Hycy,  after  Clinton's  departure,  began  to  review 
1 is  own  position.  Of  ultimately  succeeding  with 
Miss  Clinton  he  entertained  little  doubt.  So  high 
and  confident  was  his  vanity,  that  he  believed  him- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  GF  AHADARRA. 


271 


self  capable  of  performing  mighty  feat<^,  and  achiev- 
ing great  succt^sses,  with  ths  fair  sex,-^all  upon  the 
sirengih  of  liaving  destroyed  the  reputation  of  two 
innocent  country  girls.  Somehow,  notwithstanding 
his  avowed  attaelunent  for  Miss  Clinton,  he  could 
not  help  no*w  and  then  revertirjg  to  the  rich  beauty 
and  magiiiticent  form  of  Katldeen  Cavanagh  ; nor 
Mas  this  contemplation  of  his  lessened  by  consider- 
ing that,  with  all  his  gentlemanly  manners,  and  ac- 
complishments, and  wealth  to  boot,  she  preferred  the 
clod-hopper,  as  he  called  Bryan  M’Mahon,  to  himself. 

lie  felt  considerably  mortified  at  this  reflection, 
and  the  more  especially,  as  he  had  been  frequently 
taunted  with  it  and  laughed  at  for  it  by  the  country 
girls,  whenever  he  entered  into  at^y  bantering  con- 
versaiion.  A thought  now  struck  him  by  which  he 
could,  as  lie  imagined,  execute  a very  signal  revenge 
upon  I\l’Mahon  through  Kathleen,  and  perhaps,  ulti- 
mately upon  Kathleen  herself,  if  he  should  succeed 
with  Miss  Clinton  ; for  he  did  not  at  all  forgive 
Katlileen  the  two  public  instances  ol  contempt  with 
which  she  had  treated  him.  There  was  still,  how- 
ever, another  c<*nsi deration.  His  lather  had  threat- 
ened lo  bring  home  his  brother  Elward,  then  des- 
tined for  the  cimrch,  and  altogether  to  change  his 
intentions  in  that,  respect.  lndee<l,from  the  dry  and 
caustic  matmer  of  the  old  man  towards  him  of  late, 
he  begati  to  entertain  apprehensions  upon  the  sub- 
ject. Taking  therelore  all  these  circinnstances  in^o 
conside  ration,  he  resolved  in  any  event  to  tefn|)ori'ie 
a little,  and  allow  the  father  to  suppose  that.he  might 
be  prevailed  upon  to  marry  Kathleen  Cavanagh. 


272 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA, 


In  the  course  of  that  evening,  after  dinner,  while 
his  father  and  he  were  together  and  iiis  mother  not 
present,  he  introduced  the  subject  himself. 

“ I think,  Mr,  Burke,  if  I remember  correctly,  you 
proposed  something  like  a matrimonial  union  between 
the  unrivalled  Katsey  Cavanatih  and  the  accomplish- 
ed Hycy.” 

“ I did,  God  forgive  me.” 

“ I have  been  thinking  over  that  subject  since.” 

“ Have  you  indeed,”  said  his  father ; “ an’  am  I to 
make  Ned  a priest  or  a farmer?”  he  asked  dryly. 

“The  church,  I think,  Mr,  Burke,  is,  or  ought  to 
be,  his  destination.” 

“So,  after  all,  you  prefer  to  have  my  money  and 
my  property,  along  wid  a good  wife,  to  your  brother 
Ned — Neddy  I ought  to  call  him,  out  of  compliment 
to  you — ha  ! ha ! ha ! ” 

“Proceed,  Mr.  Burke,  you  are  pleased  to  be 
facetious.” 

“To  your  brother  Ned — Neddy — having  them, 
and  maybe  along  wid  them  the  same  wile  too?” 

“No,  not  exactly;  but  out  of  respect  to  your 
wishes.” 

“ What’s  that  ? ” said  the  old  man,  staring  at  him 
with  a kind  of  comic  gravity — “ out  of  respect  to 
my  wishes  ! ” 

“ That’s  what  I’ve  said,”  replied  the  son.  “ Pro- 
ceed.” 

Ilis  father  looked  at  him  again,  and  replied,  “ Pro- 
ceed yourself — it  was  you  introduced  the  subject. 
I’m  now  jack-indifferent  about  it.” 

“All  I have  to  say,”  continued  Ilycy,  “ is  that  I 


THE  EMIGKANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


2T3 


withdraw  my  ultimate  refusal,  Mr.  Burke.  I shall 
enteriaiii  the  quesliou,  as  they  say ; and  it  is  not  im- 
])ivjbal>le  but  that  I may  dignify  ibe  fair  Katsey  wiih 
tile  honorable  title  of  Mrs.  Ibirke.” 

“I  wish  you  had  spoken  a little  sooner,  then,”  re- 
plied his  father,  “ bekaise  it  so  happens  that  Gerald 
Cavan  lorli  an’  I have  the  match  between  her  and 
your  brother  Ned  as  good  as  made.” 

“My  brother  Ned  ! Why,  in  the  name  of  all 
that’s  incredible,  how  could  that  be  encorapa8se<l  ?” 

“ Very  aisily,”  said  liis  father,  “ by  the  girl’s  wait- 
in’ for  him.  Ned  is  rather  young  yet,  I grant  you; 
he’s  nineteen,  hovrever,  and  two  years  more,  you 
know,  will  make  him  one  and-twenty — take  him  out 
o’  chancery,  as  they  say.” 

“Very  good,  Mr.  Burke,  very  good;  in  that  case 
I have  no  more  to  say.” 

“ Well,”  pursued  the  father,  in  the  same  dry,  half- 
comic, half  sarcastic  voice,  “but  what  do  i/ow  intend 
to  do  wid  yoursell  ?” 

“ As  to  that,”  replied  ITycy,  who  felt  that  the  drift 
of  the  conversation  was  setting  in  against  him,  “I 
shall  take  due  time  to  consider.” 

“ What  height  are  you?”  asked  the  father, rather 
abruptly. 

“ I can’t  see,  Mr.  Burke,  I really  can’t  see  what  my 
height  has  to  do  with  the  question.” 

“ Becaise,”  j^roceeded  the  other,  “ I have  some  no- 
tion of  putting  you  into  the  army.  You  sp  ke  of  it 
wanst  yourstdf,  ivmimber ; but  then  there’s  an  ob- 
jection even  to  that!*'* 

“ Pray,  what  is  the  objection,  Mr.  Burke  ? ” 


274 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA/ 


“ Why,  it’s  most  likely  you’d  have  to  figlit— if  you 
took  to  the  milintary  trade.” 

“ Why,  upon  my  word,  Mr.  Burke,  you  shine  in 
the  sarcastic  tiiis  evening.” 

‘‘  But,  at  any  rate,  you  must  take  your  chance  for 
that.  You’re  a fine,  active  young  fellow,  and  I 
suppose  if  they  take  to  runnin’  you  won’t  be  the  last 
of  them.” 

“Good,  Mr.  Burke — proceed  though.” 

“ An’  accordingly  I have  strong  notions  of  buying 
you  a corplar's  or  a sargent’s  commission.  A good 
deal  of  that,  however,  depends  upon  yourself;  but, 
as  you  say,  Til  think  of  it.” 

Ilycy,  who  never  could  bear  ridicule,  especially 
from  the  very  man  whom  he  attempted  to  ri<licule 
most,  bounced  up,  and  after  muttering  something  in 
the  shape  of  an  oath  that  was  unintelligible,  said,  as- 
suming all  his  polite  irony  : — 

“ Do  so,  Mr.  Burke;  in  the  mean  time  I have  the 
pleasure  of  wishing  you  a very  good  evening,  sir.” 

“ Oh,  a good  evening,  sir,”  replied  the  old  fellow, 
“and  when  you  come  home  from  the  wars  a full  non- 
commissioned officer,  you’ll  be  scowerin’  up  your 
halbert  every  Christmas  an’  Aisther,  I hope  ; an’  tell- 
ing us  long  stories  of  all  you  killed  an’  ate  while  you 
were  away  from  us.” 

Harry  Clinton,  now  aware  that  the  anonymous 
letter  which  his  uncle  had  received  tiiat  morning  was 
the  production  of  Ilyc}^,  resolved  to  watch  the 
Gauger’s  motions  very  closely.  After  a great  deal 
of  reflection  upon  Hycy’s  want  of  memory  concern- 
ing their  bargain,  and  upon  a close  comparison  be- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


275 


tween  liis  conduct  and  whole  manner  on  the  night  in 
question,  and  his  own  account  of  the  matter  in  the 
course  of  their  last  interview,  he  could  not  help  feel- 
ing that  Ills  friend  had  stated  a gross  falsehood,  and 
that  the  pretended  want  of  recollection  was  an  in- 
genious after-thought,  adopted  for  the  purpose  of 
sen  ening  himself  from  the  consequences  of  whatever 
injury  he  might  inflict  upon  Bryan  M’Mahon, 

“ Harry,”  said  his  uncle,  as  nine  o’clock  approach- 
ed, “ I am  going  upon  duty  to-night.” 

“ In  what  direction,  sir?  may  I ask.” 

“ Yes,  you  may,  but  1 am  not  bound  to  tell  you. 
In  this  instance,  however,  there  is  no  necessity  for 
secrecy ; it  is  now  too  late  to  give  our  gentleman 
the  hard  word,  so  I don’t  care  much  if  I do  tell  you. 
I am  bound  for  Ahadarra.” 

“ For  Ahadarra — you  say  for  Ahadarra,  uncle?  ” 

“ I do,  nephew.” 

‘‘By  heavens,Jie  is  the  deepest  and  most  consum- 
mate scoundrel  alive,”  exclaimed  Harry  ; “I  now  see 

it  all.  Uncle,  I wish  to  God  you  would would — 

I don’t  know  what  to  say.” 

“Tiiat’s  quite  evident,  nor  what  to  think  either. 
In  the  mean  time  the  soldiers  are  wailing  for  me  in 
Ballymacan,  and  so  I must  attend  to  my  duty,^ 
Harry.” 

“Ls  it  upon  the  strength  of  the  blotted  letter  you 
got  tliis  morning,  sir,  that  you  are  now  acting?” 

“No,  Sir;  but  upon  the  strength  of  a sure  spy 
dispatched  this  day  to  the  premises.  I am  a little 
too  shrewd  now.  Master  Harry,  to  act  solely  upon 
anonymous  information.  I have  been  lead  too 


276 


THE  EmGRANTS  OF  AHADARBA. 


many  devil’s  dances  by  it  in  my  time,  to  be  gulled 
in  my  old  age  on  the  strength  of  it.” 

He  immediately  prepared  himself  for  the  excursion, 
mounted  his  horse  that  was  caparisoned  in  a military 
saddle,  the  holsters  furnished  witii  a case  of  pistols, 
wiiich  with  a double  case  that  he  had  on  his  person 
and  tw’o  daggers,  constituted  his  weapons  of  offence 
and  defence. 

Their  path  lay  directly  to  the  south  for  about  two 
miles.  Having  traversed  this  distance  tliey  reacin  d 
cross-roads,  one  of  which  branched  towards  the  left 
and  was  soon  lost  in  a rougli  brown  upland,  into 
which  it  branched  by  several  little  pathways  that 
terminated  in  little  villages  or  solitary  farmers’ 
houses.  For  about  two  miles  more  they  were 
obliged  to  cross  a dark  reach  of  waste  moor,  wliere 
the  soil  was  strong  and  well  capable  of  cultivation. 
Having  avoided  the  villages  and  more  public  thor- 
oughfares, they  pushed  upward  until  they  ca»ne  into 
the  black  heath  itself,  where  it  was  impossible  that 
horses  could  travel  in  such  darkness  as  then  pre- 
vailed ; for  it  was  past  ten  o’clock,  near  the  close  of 
December.  Clinton  consequently  left  his  horse  in 
the  care  of  two  soldiers  on  a bit  of  green  meadow  by 
the  side  of  Ahadarra  Lougli — a small  tarn  or  moun- 
tain lake  about  two  hundred  yards  in  diameter. 
They  then  pushed  up  a long  round  swelling  hill,  on 
the  other  side  of  which  was  a considerable  stretch 
of  cultivated  land  with  Bryan  M’Mihon’s  new  and 
improved  houses  at  the  head  of  it.  Tiiis  they  kept 
to  their  right  until  they  came  in  sight  of  the  wdlJ 
but  beautiful  and  picturesque  Glen  of  Althadiiawan, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


277 


wliicli  however  was  somewhat  beyona  the  distance 
tliey  had  to  go.  At  length,  after  breasting  another 
liill  wiiicii  was  lost  in  the  base  of  Culliniore,  tliey 
dropped  down  rapidly  into  a de^p  ghni  ihrongh 
wdiich  ran  a little  streamlet  that  took  its  rise  not  a 
quarter  of  a mile  above  them,  and  which  suppli<  d 
llie  apparatus  for  distillation  with  soft  clear  water. 
This  they  followed  until  near  the  head  of  the  glen, 
where,  in  a position  which  might  almost  escape 
even  a guager’s  eye,  they  found  the  object  of  their 
search. 

Tumbled  around  them  in  all  directions  were  a 
quantity  of  gigantic  rocks  thrown  as  it  were  at  ran- 
dom during  some  Titanic  warfare  or  diversion — be- 
tween  two  of  which  the  siill-house  was  built  in  such 
a way,  that,  were  it  not  for  the  smoke  in  daylight, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  diGCOVer  it,  or  at  all  events 
to  suppose  that  it  could  be  the  receptacle  of  a human 
being. 

On  entering,  Clinton  and  his  men  were  by  no 
means  surprised  to  find  the  place  deserted,  fi>r  this 
in  fact  was  liequently  the  case  on  such  occasions. 
On  looking  through  the  premises,  which  they  did  by 
the  light  of  a large  fire,  they  found  precisely  that 
Avhich  had  been  mentioned  in  Hycy’s  letter — to  wit, 
the  Still,  the  Head,  and  the  Worm;  but  with  the  ex- 
ception of  an  old  broken  rundlet  or  two,  and  a crazy 
vessel  of  wash  that  was  not  worth  removing,  there 
was  nothing  whatsoever  besides. 

The  Still  was  on  the  fire  half  filled  with  water,  the 
Head  was  on  the  Still,  and  the  Worm  was  attached 


2T» 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


to  the  Head  precisely  as  if  they  were  ia  the  process 
of  distillation. 

“ Ay,”  said  Clinton,  on  seeing  how  matters  stood, 
‘‘  I think  I understand  tins  aff:;ir.  It’s  a disappoint- 
ment in  one  sense — but  a sure  enough  card  in  an- 
other. The  fine  is  certain,  and  Ahadarra  is  most 
undoubtedly  in  for  it.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


27a 


CHAPTER  XV. 

STATE  OF  THE  COUNTRY — HYCY’s  FRIKNDSIITP  FOR 

BRYAN  m’mAHON BRYAN's  INTERVIEW  WITH  HIS 

LANDLORD. 

Bryan  M’.Maiion’s  last  interview  with  Feather- 
tonge  was  of  so  ciieering  a nature,  and  indicated  on 
the  part  of  that  gentleman  so  much  true  and  sterling 
kindness  towanls  the  young  man  and  his  family, 
that  he  felt  perfectly  satisfied  on  leaving  him,  and 
after  having  turned  their  conversation  over  in  his 
mind,  tliat  he  might  place  every  confidence  in  the 
assurance  he  had  given  him.  His  father,  too,  who 
had  never  for  a moment  doulited  Feathertonge,  felt 
equally  gratified  at  Bryan’s  report  of  their  interview, 
as  indeed  did  the  whole  family;  they  consequently 
spart  d ntdther  labor  nor  expense  in  tlie  improve- 
ments which  they  were  making  on  their  farms. 

The  situation  of  the  country  atid  neighborhood  at 
this  period  was  ind^eil  peculiar,  and  siicii  as  we  in 
this  unhappy  country^  have  experienced  both  before 
and  since.  I have  already  stated,  that  there  was  a 
partial  failure  of  the  potato  crop  that  season,  a cir- 
cu?nstance  which  uniformly  is  the  forerunner  of 
famine  and  sickness.  The  fiilure,  however,  on  that 
occasion  was  not  caused  by  a blight  in  the 
haulm,  or,  to  use  plainer  words,  by  a sudden  witiier- 
ing  of  the  stalks,  but  by  large  portions  of  the  seed 
failing  to  grow.  The  partial  scarsity,  however,  oc- 


280 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


casioned  by  this,  although  it  did  not  constitute  what 
c m w’iili  i^ropriety  be  tenned  famine,  caused  the 
great  mass  of  pauperism  which  such  a season  always 
extends  and  increases,  to  press  so  heav  ly  upon  the 
struggling  farmers,  that  their  patience  and  benevo- 
lence became  alike  tired  out  and  exhausted.  This 
perpetually  recurring  calamity  acts  with  a most  de- 
pressing effect  upon  those  persons  in  the  country 
who  have  any  claim  to  be  considered  independent. 
It  deprives  them  of  hope,  and  consequently  of  ener- 
gy, and  by  relaxing  the  spirit  of  industry  which  has 
animated  them,  tends  in  the  course  of  time  to  unite 
them  to  the  great  body  of  pauperism  which  op- 
presses and  eats  up  the  country.  But  let  us  not  be 
misunderstood.  This  evil  alone  is  sufficiently  dis- 
astrous to  the  industrial  energies  of  the  class  we 
meniion  ; but  when,  in  addition  to  this,  the  hitherto 
independent  farmer  has  to  contend  with  high  rents, 
want  of  sympathy  in  his  landlord,  who  probably  is 
ignorant  of  his  very  existence,  and  has  never  seen 
him  perhaps  in  his  life;  and  when  it  is  considered 
that  he  is  left  to  the  sharp  practice  and  pettifoggiiig, 
but  plausible  rapacity  of  a dishonest  agent,  who  feels 
that  he  is  irresponsible,  and  may  act  the  petty  tvrant 
and  vindictive  oppressor  if  he  wishes,  having  no  re- 
straint over  his  principles  but  his  interest,  which,  so 
far  from  restraining,  only  guides  and  stimulates 
them  ; — when  we  reflect  upon  all  this,  and  feel,  be- 
sides, that  the  political  principles  upon  wdiich  the 
country  is  governed  are  those  that  are  calculated  to 
promote  British  at  the  expense  of  Irish  interests — 
we  say,  when  we  reflect  upon  and  ponder  over  all 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


281 


this,  we  need  not  fnel  surprised  tliat  the  prudent,  the 
industri’ us,  and  the  respe(rtable,  who  see  noUiing 
hut  gradual  decline  aud  uliimate  paupeii^in  hef  »re 
tlieni — who  fdel  thernselves  in^glected  and  over- 
looked, and  know  tliat  every  sixtli  or  seven Ui  year 
tliey  are  liable  to  those  oppressive  onsets  of  distress, 
sickness,  and  famine, — we  need  not,  we  repeat,  feel 
at  all  surju'ised  that  those  who  constitute  this  indus- 
trious and  respectable  class  sliould  fly  from  the  evils 
which  surround  them,  and  abandon,  whilst  they  pos- 
sess tiie  power  of  dt)ing  s >,  the  country  in  wliich 
such  evils  are  permitted  to  exist. 

It  is  uj)on  this  principle,  or  rather  upon  these  prin- 
ciples, and  for  these  reason^*,  that  the  industry,  the 
moral  feeling,  the  indepemlence,  and  the  strength 
of  the  country  have  been  passing  out  of  it  for  years 
— leavi»»g  it,  season  after  season,  weaker,  more  iui- 
poverisiied,  and  less  capable  of  meeting  those  peri- 
odical ilisastcrs  wliich,  we  may  abnost  say,  are  gmie- 
ratt'd  by  the  social  disorder  and  political  misrule  of 
the  country. 

The  fact  is,  and  no  reasonable  or  honest  man  capa- 
ble of  disencumbering  himself  of  political  juvjudices 
can^deny  it,  that  up  until  a recent  period  the  great 
body  of  the  Irish  people — the  wdiole  people — were 
mainly  looked  upon  and  used  as  political  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  the  liigiier  classes,  but  not  at 
all  entitled  to  the  possession  of  separate  or  indepen- 
dent interests  in  tlieir  own  right.  It  is  true  they 
were  allowed  the  possession  of  the  fori  y shil ling  fran- 
chise; but  will  any  man  say  that  the  existence  of 
that  civil  right  was  a benefit  to  the  country  ? So 


282 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


far  from  that,  it  was  a mere  engine  of  corruption, 
ami  became  in  the  liamls  of  the  Irish  landlords  one 
of  the  most  op[>ressive  and  demoralizhig  cursv‘8  that 
ever  degraded  a people.  Peijury,  fraud,  falsehood, 
and  dishonesty,  were  its  fruits,  and  the  only  leiracy 
it  left  to  the  country  w^as  an  enormous  mass  of  pau- 
perism, and  a national  morality  comparatively  vitia- 
ted and  depraved,  in  spite  of  all  religious  influence 
and  of  domestic  affections  that  are  both  stnmg  and 
tender.  Indeed  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  it  has  been  more  injurious  to  tlie  coun- 
try in  a political  than  in  a moral  sense.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  it  had  a powerful  effect  in  producing  the  evils 
that  we  now  suffer,  and  our  strong  tendencies  to 
social  disorganizaiion.  By  it  tiie  landlords  were  in- 
duced, fn-  the  sake  of  multiplying  votes,  to  eiicour-, 
age  the  subdivision  of  small  holdings  into  those  that 
were  actually  only  nominal  or  fictitious,  and  tlie 
consequences  were,  that  in  multi  plying  votes  they 
were  rnubi plying  families  that  had  no  fixed  means  i>f 
subsistence — muiiifdying  in  facta  pauper  population 
— multipyling  not  only  perjuiy,  fraud,  falsehood,  and 
dishonesty,  but  destitntii>n,  misery,  disease  and  death. 
By  tlie  forty-shilling  franchise,  the  lamilords  encum- 
bered the  soil  with  a loose  and  unsettled  population 
tiiat  possessed  within  itself,  as  poverty  always  does, 
a fearful  facility  of  reproduction — a popula- 
tion which  ])ressed  lieavily  upon  the  indepen- 
dent class  of  farmers  and  yeomen,  but  whicli 
]ia<l  no  legal  claim  upon  the  territory  of  the  country. 
Ti»e  moment,  however,  when  the  system  whicii  pro- 
duced and  ended  this  wretched  class,  ceased  to  exist, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


28^ 


they  became  not  only  valueless  in  a political  sense, 
but  a dead  weight  upon  the  energies  of  the  country, 
and  an  almost  insuperable  impediment  to  its  pros- 
perity. This  great  evil  the  landlords  could  conjure 
up,  but  they  have  not  been  able  to  lay  it  siisce. 
Like  Frankenstein  in  the  novel,  it  pursues 
them. to  the  present  moment,  and  mu^t  be  satis- 
fied or  appeased  in  some  way,  or  it  will  unques- 
tionably destroy  them.  From  the  abolition  of  the 
franchise  until  now,  an  incessant  struggle  of  oppos 
ing  interests  has  been  going  on  in  the  country.  The 
“ forties”  and  their  descendants  must  be  fed  ; but  the 
soil  on  which  they  live  in  its  present  slate  is  not  ca- 
pable of  at  the  same  time  supporting  them  and  af- 
fording his  claims  to  the  landlord  ; for  the  food  must 
go  to  England  to  pay  the  rents,  and  the  poor 
“ foriies  ” must  starve.  They  are  novv  in  the  way 
of  the  landlord — they  are  now  in  the  way  of  the 
farmer — they  are  in  fact  in  way  of  each  other,  and 
utdess  some  wholesome  and  humane  principle  either 
of  domestic  employment  or  colonial  emigration,  or 
perhaps  both,  shall  be  ado]>ted,  they  will  continue 
to  embarrass  the  country,  arid  to  drive  out  of  it,  al- 
ways in  connexion  witli  other  causes,  the  very  class 
of  persons  that  constitute  its  remaining  strength. 

At  the  pre-Jen t period  of  our  narrative,  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Ballvmacan  was  in  an  unsettled  and  dis 
Iressfnl  state.  The  small  farmer-J,  an<i  such  as  held 
from  six  to  sixteen  acres,  at  a rent  which  tliey  could 
at  any  jieriod  witli  difficulty  pay,  were  barely  able 
to  support  themselves  and  tlieir  families  upon  the 
produce  of  their  holdings,  so  that  the  claims  of  the 


284 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


landlord  were  out  of  the  question.  Such  a position 
as  this  to  the  uuhappy  class  we  speak  of,  is  only  an- 
otiier  name  for  ruin.  Tlie  baililT,  who  always 
lives  upon  llie  property,  seeing  their  condition,  and 
knowing  that  they  are  not  able  to  meet  the  coming 
gale,  reports  accordingly  to  the  agent,  wdio,  now  cog- 
nizant that  there  is  only  one  look-up  for  the  .rent, 
seizes  the  poor  man’s  corn  and  cattle,  leaving  himself 
and  his  family  within  cold  walls,  and  at  an  extin- 
guished hearth.  In  tliis  condition  were  a vast  num- 
ber in  the  neighborhood  of  tlie  locality  laid  in  our 
narrative.  Tlie  extraordinary,  but  natural  anxiety 
for  holding  land,  and  the  equally  ardent  spirit  of 
competition  which,  prevails  in  the  country,  are  al- 
ways ready  arguments  in  the  mouth  of  the  landlord 
and  agent,  wdien  they  wish  to  raise  the  rent  or  eject 
the  tenant.  “ If  you  won’t  pay  me  such  a rent, 
there  are  plenty  that  will.  I have  been  oSered  more 
than  you  pay^,  and  more  than  I ask,  and  you  know  I 
must  look  to  my  own  interests  ! ” In  this  case  it  is 
very^  likely  that  the  landlord  speaks  nothing  but  the 
truth;  and  as  he  is  pressed  on  by  his  necessities  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  tenant  on  the  otlier,  the  state 
of  a country  so  circumstanced  with  respect  to  landed 
property  and  its  condition,  may'  be  easily^  conceived. 

In  addition,  however,  to  all  we  have  alrea<ly  de- 
tailed, as  aff  cting  the  neighborhood  of  Ahadarra, 
we  have  to  inform  our  readers  that  the  tenantiy  up.ui 
the  surrounding  property  w’ere  soon  about  to  enjoy 
tlie  luxury  of  a contested  election.  Chevy  dale  had 
been  the  sitting  member  during  two  sessions  of  Par- 
liament. He  was,  as  we  have  already  stated,  an 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


285 


Emancipator  and  Liberal ; but  wc  need  scarcely  say 
that  he  did  not  gel  liis  seat  upon  these  princi[)les. 
lie  had  been  a convert  to  Liberalism  since  liis  elec- 
tion, ainl  at  tlie  approaching  crisis  stood,  it  was 
tlnmglit,  but  an  indiirerent  chance  of  being  re-elected. 
Tiie  gentleman  who  had  sat  before  was  a sturdy 
Conservative,  a good  deal  bigoted  in  politics,  but 
])osse8sing  that  rare  and  inestimable  quality,  or 
rather  combination  of  qualities  wliich  constitute  an 
honest  man.  lie  was  a Major  Vatiston,  a man  of  good 
])i'<qierty,  an<l  ah  hough  somewhat  deficient  in  the 
suaviter  in  7nodo,  yet  in  consequence  of  his  worth 
and  sincerity,  he  was  rather  a lavorite  with  the  peo- 
ple, who  in  general  relisli  sincerity  and  honesty 
wherever  they  find  them  in  public  men. 

Having  thus  f^r  digressed,  we  now  beg  leave  to 
resume  our  narrativ^e  and  once  more  return,  from 
the  Contemplation  of  a state  of  things  so  painful  to 
tl;e  prt»gn  ss  of  those  circumstances  which  involve 
the  fate  of  our  hutnble  individuals  who  constitute 
our  dramatis  pcrsoncB. 

The  seizure  of  the  distillery  aparatus  on  M'Ma- 
Itoh’s  firm  of  Ahadarra,  was  in  a few  days  followed 
by  a knowledge  of  tlie  ruin  in  which  it  must  neces- 
sarily involve  tliat  excellent  and  industrious  young 
man.  At  this  time  there  was  an  act  of  parliament 
in  existence  against  illicit  distillation,  but  of  so 
recent  a date  that  it  was  only  wlien  a seizure  similar 
to  the  foregoing  had  been  made,  that  the  people  in 
any  particular  district  became  acquainted  with  it. 
By  this  enactment  the  ofTending  individual  was 
looked  upon  as  having  no  farther  violated  the  laws 


286 


THE  EHIGRAl^TS  OF  AHADARRA. 


in  that  case  made  and  provided,  than  those  who  had 
never  been  eng?iged  in  such  pursuits  at  all.  In  oth- 
er word:^,  the  innocent  were  equally  piiuislied  with 
tlie  guilty.  A heavy  firie  was  imposed  — not  on  ihe 
offender,  but  on  the  whole  townland  in  whicli  he 
lived  ; so  that  the  guilt  of  one  individual  was  not 
visited  as  it  ought  to  have  been  on  the  culprit  him- 
self, but  equally  distributed  in  all  its  penalties  upon 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  district  in  quesliorq  w Ijo- 
may  have  had  neither  act  nor  part  in  any  violation 
of  the  laws  whatsoever. 

Bryan  M’Mahon,  on  discovering  the  fearful  posi- 
tion in  which  it  ])laced  him,  scarcely  knew  on  w’hat 
hand  to  turn.  Ilis  fatnily  were  equally  alarmed  and 
witli  just  rea'^on.  Illicit  distillation  had  been  car- 
ried to  incredible  lengths  for  the  last  two  or  tlirce 
years,  and  the  statu'e  in  question  was  enacted  with 
a hope  that  it  might  unite  the  people  in  a kind  of 
legal  confederacy  against  a system  so  destructive  of 
industry  and  morals.  The  act,  liow^ever  ill-judged, 
and  impolitic  at  best,  was  not  merely  imperative,— 
but  fraught  with  ruin  and  bloodshed.  It  immediately 
became  tlie  engine  of  malice  and  revenge  betw^eeu 
indivhlual  enemies —often  between  rival  factions, 
ami  not  un frequently  between  pa’ ties  instigated 
against  each  other  by  political  rancor  and  hatre<i. 
Indeed,  so  destructive  of  tlie  lives  and  morals  of  the 
]>eople  was  it  found,  that  in  the  course  of  a very  few 
years  it  was  repealed,  but  not  until  it  had  led  to  re- 
peated murders  and  brought  ruin  and  destruction 
upon  many  an  unoffending  and  industrious  family. 

Bryan  now  bethouglit  him  of  the  warnings  he 


THE  EMIGRAlffTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


287 


ha<3  received  form  the  gnager  and  Fethertonge,  and 
resolved  to  see  both,  that  lie  might  be  enabled,  if 
possible,  to  trace  to  its  source  the  plot  that  had  been 
laid  for  his  destruction,  lie  accordingly  wentdi)wn 
to  his  father’s  at  Carriglass,  where  he  had  not  been 
long  when  Ilycy  Burke  made  his  appearance,  “ Hav- 
ing come  that  far  on  his  way,”  he  said,  “to  see  him, 
and  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  report  that  had 
gone  abroad  respecting  the  heavy  responsibility  un- 
der which  the  illicit  distillation  had  ]»laced  him.” 
Bryan  was  naturally  generous  and  without  suspicion; 
but  notwithstanding  this,  it  was  impossible  that  lie 
should  not  entertain  some  slight  surmises  touching 

o o 

the  sincerity  of  Burke. 

“ What  is  this,  Bryan  ? ” said  the  latter.  “Can 
it  be  possible  that  you’re  m for  the  Fine,  as  report 
goes  ? ” 

“It’s  quite  possible,”  replied  Bryan  ; “on  yester- 
day I got  a notice  of  proceedings  from  the  Board  of 
Excise.” 

“ But,”  pursued  liis  friend,  “ what  devil  could 
liave  tempted  you  to  have  anything  to  do  with  illicit 
distill ition  ? Didn’t  you  know  the  danger  of  it?  ” 

“ I had  no  more  to  do  with  it,”  replied  Bryan, 
“than  you  had — nor  I don’t  even  rightly  know  yet 
who  had  ; though,  indeed,  I believe  I may  say  it  was 
these  vagabonds,  the  Hogans,  that  has  their  hands  in 
everything  that’s  wicked  and  disgraceful.  They 
would  ruin  me  if  they  could,”  said  Bryan,  “and  I 
suppose  it  was  with  the  hope  of  doing  so  that  they 
set  up  the  still  where  they  did.” 

“ Well,  now,”  replied  Ilycy,  with  an  air  of  easy 


283 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


and  natural  generos^ity,  “I  should  be  sorry  to  think 
so:  ti>ey  are  d — d scoundrels,  iv  ratlier  common 
rufiians,  I grant  you;  but  still,  Bryan,  I don’t  like 
to  suspect  even  such  vagabonds  without  good 
grounds.  Bad  as  we  know  them  to  be,  I have  my 
doubts  whether  they  are  capable  of  setting  about 
such  an  act  for  the  diabolical  purpose  of  bringing 
you  to  ruin.  Perliaps  they  merely  deemed  tlie 
place  on  your  farm  a convenient  one  to  build  a siill- 
house  in,  and  that  they  never  thought  further  about 
it.” 

“ Or  what,”  replied  Bryan,  “ if  there  was  some  one 
behind  their  backs  who  is  worse  than  themselves? 
Mightn’t  sich  a tiling  as  tliat  be  possible?” 

“True,”  replied  llycy,  “true,  indeed — that’s  not 
improbable.  Stay — no — well  it  may  be — but — no — 
I can’t  think  it.” 

“ What  is  it  you  can’t  think  ? ” 

“ Why,  such  a thing  miglit  be,”  proceeded  ITycy, 
“ if  y'ou  have  an  enemy  ; but  I think,  Bryan,  you 
are  loo  well  liked— and  justly  so  too— if  you  will 
excuse  me  f«»r  saying  so  to  your  hme — to  liave  a;?y 
enemy  capable  of  going  such  nefarious  lengths  as 
that.” 

Bryan  paused  and  seemed  a good  deal  struck  with 
the  trulli  of  Ilycy's  observation — “There’s  raison, 
sure  enough,  in  what  y^ou  say,  llycy,”  he  observed. 
“ I don't  know  tliat  I have  a single  enemy — unless 
the  Hogans  themselves — that  would  feel  any  satisfac- 
tion in  diiviii’  me  to  destruction.” 

“And  besides,”  continued  llycy,  “ between  you 
and  me  now,  Bryan,  who  the  devil  with  an  ounce  of 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


289 


sense  in  his  head  would  trust  such  scoundrels,  or  put 
himself  in  tlieir  power? 

Bryan  considered  this  argument  a still  more  forci- 
ble one  than  the  other. 

“Tnat’s  stronger  still,”  he  replied,  ‘‘and  indeed 
I am  inclined  to  think  that  after  all,  Hycy,  it  hap- 
pened as  you  say.  Teddy  Phats,  I think  nothing  at 
all  about,  for  the  poor,  mis-shapen  vagabone  will 
distil  poteen  for  any  oue  that  employs  him.” 

“True,”  replied  the  other,  “I  agree  with  you; 
but  what’s  to  be  done,  Bryan?  for  that’s  the  main 

P'  int  novv^” 

“ I scarcely  know,”  replied  Bryan,  who  now  began 
to  feel  nothing  but  kindness  towards  Hycy,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  interest  wliich  that  young  fellow  evi- 
dently took  in  his  misfortune,  for  such,  in  serious 
truth,  it  must  be  called.  “I  am  the  only  proprietor 
of  Ahadarra,”  he  proceeded,  “and,  as  a matter  of 
course,  the  whole  fine  falls  on  my  shoulders.” 

“ Ay,  that’s  the  devil  of  it;  but  at  all  events, 
Bryan,  there  is  nothing  got  in  this  world  without 
exertion  and  energy.  Mr.  Chevydale,  the  Member, 
is  now  at  home:  he  has  come  down  to  canvass  for 
tlie  coming  election.  I would  recommend  you  to 
see  him  at  once.  You  know — but  perhaps  you  don’t 
though — that  his  brother  is  one  of  the  Commission- 
ers of  Excise;  so  that  I don’t  know  any  man  who 
can  serve  you  more  effectually  than  Chevydale,  if  he 
wishes.” 

“ But  what  could  he  do?  ” asked  Bryan. 

“ Why,  by  backing  a memorial  from  you,  stating 
the  particulars,  and  making  out  a strong  case,  he 

13 


290 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


might  get  the  fine  reduced,  I shall  draw  up  such  a 
memorial  if  you  wish.” 

“ Thank  you,  llycy — I’m  obliged  to  you — these, 
I dare  say,  will  be  the  proper  steps  to  take — thank 
you.” 

Nonsense  ! but  perhaps  I may  serve  you  a little 
in  another  way.  I’m  very  intimate  with  Harry 
Clinton,  and  who  know^s  but  I may  be  able  to  influ- 
ence the  uncle  a little  through  the  nepiiew.” 

“It’s  whispered  that  you  might  do  more  through 
the  niece,”  replied  Bryan,  laughing;  “is  that 
true  ?” 

“ Nonsense,  I tell  yon,”  replied  Hycy,  afiecting 
confusion  ; “ for  Heaven’s  sake,  Bryan,  say  nothing 
about  that;  how  did  it  come  to  your  ears?” 

“ Faith,  and  that’s  more  than  I can  tell  you,”  re- 
plied the  other ; “ but  I know  I heard  it  somewhere 
of  late.” 

“It’s  not  a subject,  of  course,”  continued  Hycy, 
“ that  I should  w ish  to  become  the  topic  of  vulgar 
comment  or  conversation,  and  I’d  much  rather  you 
would  endeavor  to  discountenance  it  whenever  you 
hear  it  spoken  of.  At  all  events,  whether  with  niece 
or  nephew,”  proceeded  Hycy,  “ you  may  rest  assur- 
ed, that  whatever  service  I can  render  you,  I shall  not 
fail  to  do  it.  You  and  I have  had  a slight  misun- 
derstanding, but  on  an  occasion  like  this,  Bryan,  it 
should  be  a bitter  one  indeed  that  a man — a generous 
man  at  least, — would  or  ought  to  remember.” 

This  conversation  took  place  whilst  Bryan  was 
proceeding  to  Fethertonge’s,  Hycy  being  also  on  his 
way  home.  On  arriving  at  the  turn  of  the  road 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


291 


which  led  to  Jemmy  Burke’^,  ITycy  caught  the 
lunul  of  his  companion,  whici»  he  squeezed  w ith  an 
atihciioiiaie  Avarmlh,  so  cordial  and  sincere  in  its 
cl)jn*;tcter,  that  Bryan  cast  every  sliadovv  of  suspici^ni 
to  tiie  winds. 

“ Cheer  up,  Bryan,  all  will  end  better  than  you 
think,  I hope.  I sliall  draw  up  a memorial  for  you 
tins  eveniiiLf,  as  strongly  and  forcibly  as  possible, 
and  any  oilier  assislance  that  I can  render  you  in 
this  unhap|)y  djfiicnUy,  I will  do  it.  1 know  I am 
above  ninety  pounds  in  your  debt,  and  instead  of 
talking  to  you  in  this  way,  or  giving  you  fair  words, 
I ought  railier  to  pay  you  your  money.  The  ‘gen- 
tleman,’ however,  is  impracticable  for  the  present, 
but  I trust 

“Not  a word  about  it,”  said  Bryan,  “you’ll  oblige 
me  if  you'll  drop  that  part  of  tlie  subject ; but  listen, 
Ilycy — I think  you're  generous  and  a little  extrava- 
gant, and  both  is  a good  man’s  case— but  that’s  not 
what  I’m  going  to  spake  about,  truth's  best  at  all 
times ; I heard  that  you  were  my  enemy,  and  I was 
desired  to  be  on  my  guard  against  you.” 

Ilycy  looked  at  liiru  with  that  kind  of  surprise 
which  is  natural  to  an  innocent  man,  and  simply  said, 
“May  I ask  by  whom,  Bryan?” 

“I  may  tell  you  some  otiiertime,”  replied  Bryan, 
“ but  I won’t  now;  all  I can  say  is,  that  I don’t  be- 
lieve it,  and  Frn  sure  that  ought  to  satisfy  you.” 

“1  sh:dl  expect  you  to  tell  me,  Bryan,”  said  the 
other,  and  then  after  returning  a fewstep^,  he  caught 
M'Malom  s hand  again,  and  sliaking  it  warmly,  once 
more  added,  “ God  bless  you,  Bryan  ; you  are  a gen- 


292 


THE  EMIGRAOTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


erous,  high-minded  young  fellow,  and  I only  wish  I 
was  like  you/’ 

Bryan,  after  they  had  separated,  felt  that  Ilyey’s 
advice  was  the  very  best  possible  under  tlie  circum- 
stances, and  as  lie  had  lieard  for  the  first  time,  that 
Chevydale  was  in  the  country,  he  resolved  to  go  at 
once  and  state  to  him  the  peculiar  grievance  under 
which  he  labored. 

Chovydale’s  house  was  somewhat  nearer  Ahadarra 
til  an  Fethertonge’s,  but  on  the  same  line  of  road, 
and  he  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  his 
landlord.  The  mansion  indeed  was  a fine  one.  It 
stood  on  the  brow  of  a gentle  eminence,  which  com- 
manded a glorious  prospect  of  rich  and  highly  culii- 
vated  country.  Behind,  the  landscape  rose  gradual- 
ly until  it  terminated  in  a range  of  mountains  that 
])rotected  the  h'Uise  from  the  north.  The  present 
structure  was  modern,  having  been  built  by  old 
Chevydale,  previous  to  his  marriage.  It  was  large 
and  simple,  but  so  majestic  in  appearance,  that  noth- 
ing could  surpass  the  harmony  that  subsisted  be- 
tween its  proportions  and  the  magnificent  old  trees 
which  studded  the  glorious  lawn  that  surrounded  it, 
and  rose  in  thick  extensive  masses  that  stretched  far 
away  behind  the  house.  It  stood  in  a park,  which 
for  the  beauties  of  wood  and  water  was  indeed  wor- 
thy of  its  fine  simplicity  and  grandeur — a park  in 
which  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the  beautiful, 
the  picturesque,  or  the  wild,  predominated  most. 
And  yet  in  this  princely  residence  Mr.  Chevydale 
did  not  reside  more  than  a month,  or  at  most  two, 
during  the  whole  year. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAOARRA. 


293 


On  reaching  the  hall-door,  M’Mahon  inquired  from 
the  servant  w ho  appeared,  if  he  could  see  Mr.  Chevy- 
dale. 

“ I’m  afraid  not,”  said  the  servant,  “ but  I will  see ; 
what’s  your  name  ? ” 

“ Bryan  M’Mahon,  of  Ahadarra,  one  of  his  ten- 
ants.” 

The  servant  returned  to  him  in  a few  moments, 
and  said,  “Yes,  he  will  see  you;  foliovv  me.” 

Bryan  entered  a library  where  he  found  liis  land- 
lord and  Fethertonge  apj)arently  engaged  in  busi- 
ness, and  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  he  over- 
heard Clievydale  saying — “No,  no,  I shall  always 
see  my  tenants.” 

Bryan  made  his  obeisance  in  his  own  plain  way, 
and  CheA^ydale  said — 

“ Are  you  M’Mahon  of  Ahadarra?  ” 

“I  am,  sir,”  replied  Bryan. 

“I  thought  you  were  a much  older  man,”  said 
Chevydale,  “there  certainly  must  be  some  mistake 
here,”  he  added,  looking  at  Fethertonge.  “M’Ma- 
hon of  Ahadarra  was  a middle-aged  man  several 
3’ears  ago,  but  this  person  is  young  enough  to  be 
his  main” 

“You  speak  of  his  uncle,”  replied  Fethertonge, 
“ who  is  dead.  This  young  man,  who  nows  owns  his 
uncle’s  farm,  is  son  to  Thomas  M’Mahon  of  Carriglass. 
How  is  your  father,  M’Mahon  ? I hope  he  bears  up 
well  under  his  recent  loss.” 

“Indeed  but  poorly,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  “I  feai 
he’ll  never  be  the  same  man.” 

Chevydale  here  took  to  reading  a newspaper,  and 


294 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


in  a minute  or  two  appeared  to  be  altogether  uncon- 
geious  of  Bryan’s  presence. 

“ Tm  afeard,  sir,”  said  Bryan,  addressing  himself 
to  the  agent,  who  was  the  only  person  likely  to 
hear  him,  “ I’rn  afeard  sir,  that  I’ve  got  into  trouble.” 

“ Into  trouble  ? liow  is  that  ? ” 

“Why,  sir,  there  was  a Still,  Head,  and  Worm, 
found  upon  Ahadarra,  and  I’m  going  to  be  fined 
for  it.” 

“ M’Mah on,”  replied  the  agent,  “I  am  sorry  to 
hear  this,  both  on  your  own  account,  and*  that  of 
your  family.  If  I don’t  mistake,  you  were  cautioned 
and  warned  against  this;  but  it  was  useless;  yes,  I 
am  sorry  for  it ; and  for  you,  too.” 

“ I don’t  properly  understand  you,  sir,”  said 
Bryan. 

“Did  I not  myself  forewarn  you  against  having 
anything  to  do  in  matters  contrary  to  the  law  ? 
You  must  remember  I did,  and  on  the  very  last 
occasion  too  when  you  were  in  my  office.” 

“I  remember  it  right  well,  sir,”  replied  Bryan, 
“ and  I say  now  as  I did  then,  that  I am  not  the 
man  to  break  the  law,  or  have  act  or  part  in  any- 
thing that’s  contrary  to  it.  I know  nothing  about 
this  business,  except  that  three  ruffianly  looking 
fellows  named  Ilogan,  common  tinkers,  and  common 
vagabonds  too  boot — men  that  are  my  enemies — are 
the  ptu-sons  by  all  accounts  who  set  up  the  still  on 
iiiy  property.  As  for  myself,  I had  no  more  to 
do  in  it  or  with  it  than  yourself  or  Mr.  Chev^'dale 
here.” 

« “ Well,”  replied  Fethertonge,  “I  hope  not.  I 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


295 


slioiild  feel  much  disappointed  if  you  had,  but  you 
knov\^,  Bryan,”  he  added  good-lmmoredly,  “ we  could 
scarcely  expect  that  you  should  admit  such  a piece 
of  folly,  not  to  call  it  by  a harsher  name.” 

‘‘If  I had  embarked  in  it,”  replied  McMahon,  “ I 
sartiiily  would  not  deny  it  to  you  or  Mr.  Chevydale 
at  least;  but  as  I said  before,  I know  nothing  more 
about  ir,  than  simply  it  was  tliese  ruffians  and  a fel- 
low named  Pliats,  a Distiller,  that  set  it  a-working 
— however  the  question  is  what  am  I to  do  ? If  1 
must  pay  the  fine  for  the  whole  townland,  it  will 
beggar  me — ruin  me.  It  was  that  brought  me  to 
my  landlord  here,”  he  added  ; “ I believe,  sir,  you 
have  a brother  a Commissioner  of  Excise  ? ” 

“Eh?  what  is  that?”  asked  Chevydale,  looking 
up  suddenly  as  Bryan  asked  the  question. 

M’Mahon  was  obliged  to  repeat  ail  the  circum- 
stances once  more,  as  did  Featherton^e  the  warnins: 
lie  had  given  him  against  having  any  connexion 
with  illegal  proceedings. 

“I  am  to  get  a memorial  drawn  up  to-morrow, 
sir,”  proceeded  Bryan,  “and  I was  thinking  that  by 
giving  the  Board  of  Excise  a true  statement  of  the 
case,  they  might  reduce  the  fine  ; if  they  don’t  I am 
ruined — that's  all.” 

“ Ct'rtainly,”  said  his  landlord,  “ that  is  a very 
good  course  to  take  ; indeed  your  only  course.” 

“ I hope,  sir,”  proceeded  Bryan,  “ that  as  you 
now  know  the  true  circumstances  of  tlie  case,  you'll 
be  kind  enough  to  support  my  petition  ; I believe 
your  brother,  sir,  is  one  of  the  Commissioners;  you 
would  sarlinly  be  able  to  do  something  with  him.” 


296 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“No,”  replied  Chevydale,  “I  would  not  ask  any- 
thing from  him  ; but  1 shall  suj)port  your  Petition, 
and  try  what  I can  do  with  the  other  Comniis- 
sioners.  On  principle,  however,  I make  it  a point 
never  to  ask  anyildng  from  my  brother.” 

“ Will  I bring  you  the  Petition,  sir  ? ” asked  Bryan. 

“ Fetch  me  the  Petition.” 

“And  Bryan,”  said  Fethertonge,  raising  his  finger 
at  him  as  if  by  w^ay  of  warning — and  laughing — 
“ hark  ye,  let  tiiis  be  the  last.” 

“ Feihertonge,”  said  the  landlord,  “ I see  Pratt 
has  been  found  guilty,  and  the  sentence  confirmed 
by  the  Commander-in-Chief.” 

“You  will  insist  on  it,”  said  Bryan  in  reply  to 
the  agent,  “ but — ” 

“There  now,  M’Mahon,”  said  the  latter,  “that 
will  do ; good  day  to  you.” 

“ I think  it  is  a very  harsh  sentence,  Fethertonge  ; 
will  you  touch  the  bell  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  sir,”  replied  the  other,  ringing  as 
he  spoke;  “Neville’s  testimony  was  very  strong 
against  him,  and  the  breaking  of  the  glass  did  not 
certainly  look  like  sobriety.” 

“ I had  one  other  word  to  say,  gentlemen,”  added 
M’Mahon,  “if  you’ll  allow  me,  now  that  Pm 
here.” 

Fethertonge  looked  at  him  with  a face,  in  which 
might  be  read  a painful  but  friendly  rebuke  for 
persisting  to  speak,  after  the  other  had  changed  the 
subject.  “I  rather  think  Mr.  Chevydale  would 
prefer  hearing  it  some  other  time,  Bryan.” 

“But  you  know  the  proverb,  sir,”  said  Bryan, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


297 


emilinfr, ‘nbat  there’s  no  lime  like  the  present ; be- 
sides it’s  only  a word.” 

“ What  is  it  ?”  asked  the  landlord. 

“About  the  leases,  sir,”  replied  M'Mahon,  “to 
know  when  it  would  be  convanient  for  you  to  sign 
them.” 

Chevydale  looked  from  Bryan  to  the  agent,  and 
again  from  the  agent  to  Bryan,  as  if  anxious  to 
ntidersland  wiiat  the  allusion  to  leases  meant.  At 
this  moment  a servant  entered,  saying,  “The  horses 
are  at  the  door,  gentlemen.” 

“ Come  some  other  day,  M’Mahon,”  said  Fether- 
tonge ; “ do  you  not  see  that  we  are  going  out  to 
ride  now — going  on  our  canvass?  Come  to  my 
office  some  other  day  ; Mr.  Chevydale  will  remain 
for  a considerable  time  in  the  country  now,  and  yea 
need  not  feel  so  eager  in  the  matter.” 

“Yes,  come  some  otlier  day,  Mr. —w- Mr. — ay- - 
M'Mahon,  if  there  are  leases  to  sign  of  course  I 
shall  sign  them;  I am  always  anxious  to  do  my  duty 
as  a landlord.  Come,  or  rather  Fethertonge  here 
will  manage  it.  You  know  I transact  no  business 
liere  ; everything  is  done  at  his  office,  unless  when 
he  brings  me  papers  to  sign.  Of  course  I sliallsign 
any  necessary  ])aper.” 

Bryan  then  withdrew  after  having  received  anotli- 
er  friendly  nod  of  remonstrance  which  seemed  to 
say,  “Why  will  you  thus  persist,  wfjen  you  see  that 
he  is  not  disposed  to  enter  into  these  matters  noy  ? 
Am  not  I your  friend  ?”  Still,  however,  he  did  not  i eel 
perfectly  at  ease  with  the  result  of  his  visit  A 


298 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


slight  sense  of  uncertainty  and  doubt  crept  over 
him,  and  in  spite  of  every  effort  at  confidence,  he 
found  that,  tliat  which  he  had  placed  in  Fethertonge, 
if  it  did  not  diminish,  was  most  assuredly  not  be- 
coming stronger. 


» 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


299 


CHAPTER  XVL 

A SPAR  BETWEEN  KATE  AND  PHILIP  HOGAN  - BRYAN 
M MAHON  IS  CAUTIONED  AGAINST  POLITICAL  TEMP- 
TATION—HK  SEEKS  MAJOR  VANSTON’S  INTEREST 
WITH  THE  BOARD  OF  EXCISE. 

The  eonseqiiences  of  t)ie  calamity  which  was  hang- 
ing over  Bryan  M’Maiiou’s  head,  had  become  now 
pretty  well  understood,  and  occasioned  a very 
general  and  profound  sympathy  for  the  ruin  in 
wliich  it  was  likely  to  involve  liim.  Indeed,  almost 
every  one  appeared  to  feel  it  more  than  he  himself 
did,  and  many,  who  on  meeting  him  were  at  first 
disposed  to  offer  him  consolation,  changed  their  pur 
pose  on  witnessing  his  cheerful  and  manly  bearing 
under  it.  Throughout  the  whole  country,  there  was 
but  one  family,  with  another  exception,  that  felt 
gratitied  at  the  blow  which  had  fallen  on  liim.  The 
exception  we  speak  of  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Hycy 
Burke,  and  the  family  was  that  of  the  Hogans.  As 
for  Teddy  Phats,  he  was  not  the  man  to  trouble 
himself  by  the  loss  of  a moment’s  indifference  upon 
any  eartldy  or  other  suV>ject,  saving  and  excepting 
alv\  ays  that  it  involved  the  death,  mutilation,  or  de- 
struction in  some  shape,  of  Ids  great  and  relentless 
foe,  the  Gauger,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  the  imper- 
sonation of  all  that  is  hateful  and  villanous  in 
life,  and  only  sent  into  this  world  to  war  witli  human 
happiness  at  large.  That  great  Professional  Instinct, 
as  the  French  say,  and  a strong  unaccountable  dis- 


800 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


relish  of  Ilycy  Burke,  were  the  only  two  feelings 
that  disturbed  the  hardened  indiflference  of  his 
nature. 

One  night  shortly  after  Bryan’s  visit  to  his  land- 
lord, the  Hogans  and  Phats  were  a^Stinlbled  in  the 
kiln  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  one  o’clock, 
after  having  drunk  nearly  tiiree  quarts  of  wiiisky 
among  them.  The  young  savages,  as  usual,  after 
the  vagabond  depredations  or  njischievous  exercises 
of  the  day,  were  snoring  as  we  have  described  ihem 
before;  when  Teddy,  whom  no  quantity  of  liquor 
could  affect  beyond  a mere  inveterate  hardm  ss  of 
brogue  and  an  indescribable  effort  at  mirth  and 
melody,  exclaimed — ‘‘Pwhy,  dhen,  dat’s  the  stuff; 
and  here’s  bad  luck  to  him  that  paid  fwhor  it ! ” 

“I’ll  not  drink  it,  you  ugly  keout^'^  exclaimed 
Philip,  in  his  deep  and  ruffianly  voice ; “ but  come 
— all  o’  yez  fill  up  and  drink  rail  toast.  Come,  Kate, 
you  crame  of  hell’s  delights,  fill  till  I give  it.  No,” 
he  added  abruptly,  “I  won’t  drink  that,  you  lepre- 
chaun; the  man  that  ped  for  it  is  Hycy  Biirke,  and 
I like  llycy  Burke  for  one  thing,  and  Pll  not  dhrink 
bad  luck  to  him.  Come,  are  yez  ready  ? ” 

“Give  it  out,  you  hulk,”  said  Kate,  “an’  don’t 
keep  us  here  all  night  over  it.” 

“ Here,  then,”  exclaimed  the  savage,  with  a 
grin  of  ferocious  mirth,  distoning  his  grim  colossal 
features  into  a smile  that  was  frightful  and  ifdiuman 
— “Here’s  may  Bryan  M’Mahon  be  soon  a Beggar, 
an’  all  his  breed  the  sarne  ! Dririk  it  now,  all  o’  yez, 
or,  by  the  mortal  counthryman,  Pll  brain  the  first 
that’ll  reluse  it.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


301 


The  threat,  in  this  case,  was  a drunken  one,  and 
on  that  very  account  the  more  dangerous. 

“Well,”  said  Teddy,  “I  don’t  like  to  drink  it; 
but  if—” 

llonomondlaiil!  you  d — d disciple,”  thundered 
the  giant,  “ down  wid  it,  or  111  split  your  skull  ! ” 

Teddy  had  it  down  ere  the  words  were  concluded. 
“ What!”  exclaimed  Hogan,  or  rather  roared  again, 
as  he  fastened  his  blazing  eyes  on  Kate — “ what, 
you  yalla  mullotty,  do  you  dar  to  refuse  ? ” 

“Ay  do  I dar  to  refuse! — an’  I’d  see  you  fizzin’ 
on  the  devil’s  fryiu’-pan,  where  you’ll  tiz  yet,  afore 
I’d  dhrink  it.  Come,  come,”  she  replied,  her  eye 
blazing  now  as  fiercely  as  his  own,  “ keep  qui  t,  I 
bid  you — keep  calm;  you  ought  to  know  me  now  I 
thiidc.” 

“ Drink  it,”  he  shouted,  “ or  I’ll  brain  you.” 

“Howl  him,”  said  Teddy — “howl  him;  there’s 
murdher  in  his  eye.  My  soul  to  happiness  but  he’ll 
kill  her.” 

“Will  he,  indeed?”  said  Bat,  with  a loud  laugh, 
in  which  he  was  joined  by  Ked — “ will  he,  indeed  ? ” 
they  shouted.  “Go  on,  Kate,  you’ll  get  fair  play  if 
you  want  it — his  eye,  Teddy  ! ay,  but  look  at  hers^ 
man  alive — look  at  lier  altogether!’  Go  on,  Kate- 
more  power ! ” 

Teddy,  on  looking  at  her  again,  literally  retreated 
a lew  paces  from  sheer  terror  of  the  tremendous  and 
intrepid  fury  who  now  stood  before  him.  It  was 
then  for  the  first  time  that  he  observed  the  liuge 
bones  and  immense  muscular  development  that  stood 
out  into  terrible  strength  by  the  force  of  her  rising 


302 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


passion.  It  was  the  eye,  however,  and  the  features 
of  the  face  which  filled  him  with  suc.h  an  accountable 
dread.  The  eyes  were  literally  blazing,  and  the 
muscles  of  the  face,  now  cast  into  an  expression 
which  seemed  at  the  same  time  to  be  laughter  and 
fury,  were  wrought  up  and  blended  togetlu  r in  such 
a way  as  made  the  very  countenance  terrible  by  the 
emanation  of  murder  which  seemed  to  break  from 
every  feature  of  it.  ‘‘  Drink  it,  I say  again,”  shouted 
Philip.  Kate  made  no  reply,  bat,  walking  over  to 
where  he  stood,  she  looked  closely  into  his  eyes,  and 
said  with  grinding  teeth — “ Not,  if  it  was  to  save 
you  from  the  gallows,  wdiere  you’ll  swing  yet;  but 
listen.”  As  she  spoke  her  w^ords  were  hoarse  and 
low,  there  was  a volume  of  powerful  strength  in  her 
voice  wdiich  stunned  one  like  the  roar  of  a lioness. 
“Here,”  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  now  all  at  once 
rising  or  rather  shooting  up  to  a most  terrific  scream 
— “ here’s  a disgraceful  death  to  Hycy  Burke  ! and 
may  all  that’s  good  and  prosperous  in  tlds  world, 
ay,  and  in  the  next,  attend  Bryan  M’Mahon,  the 
honest  man  ! Now,  Philip,  my  man,  see  how  I 
drink  them  both.”  And,  having  concluded,  she 
swallowed  the  glass  of  whisky,  and  again  drawing 
her  face  within  an  inch  of  his  she  glared  right  into 
his  eyes. 

“ Howl  me,”  he  sliouted,  “ or  I’ll  sthrike,  an’  we’ll 
have  a death  in  the  house.” 

She  raised  one  hand  and  weaved  it  behind  her,  as 
an  intimation  that  they  should  not  interfere. 

The  laughter  of  the  brothers  now  passed  all 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


303 


bounds.  “No,  Kate,  go  on — we  won’t  interfere. 
You  liad  better  seize  him,” 

“No,”  she  replied,  “let  him  begin  first,  if  he 
dar.” 

“ Howl  me,”  shouted  Pliilip,  “ she’ll  only  be 
killed.” 

Another  peal  of  laughter  was  the  sole  reply  given 
to  this  by  tiie  brothers.  “He’s  goin’,”  they  ex- 
claimed, “he’s  gone — the  white  fedher’s  in  him — 
it’s  all  over  wid  him — he’s  afeerd  of  her,  an’  not  for 
notliing  either — ha!  ha!  ha!  more  power,  Kate  ! ” 

Stung  by  the  contemptuous  derision  contained  in 
this  language,  Philip  was  stepping  back  in  order  to 
give  liimself  ]>roper  room  for  a blow,  when,  on  the 
very  instant  that  he  moved,  Kate,  uttering  something 
between  a howl  and  a yell,  dashed  her  huge  hands 
into  his  throat — which  was,  as  is  usual  with  tinkers, 
without  a cravat — and  in  a moment  a desperate  and 
awful  struggle  took  place  betw^eeu  them.  Strong  as 
Philip  was,  he  roun<l  himself  placed  perfectly  on  the 
defensive  by  the  terrific  grip  wdiich  this  fuiious  op- 
ponent held  of  his  throat.  So  pow’erful  was  it,  in- 
deed, that  not  a single  instant  was  allow^ed  him  for 
the  exercise  of  ativ  aggressive  violence  against  her 
by  a blow,  all  his  strength  being  directed  to  unclasp 
her  hands  from  his  throat  that  he  might  be  permit- 
ted to  breathe.  As  they  pulled  and  tugged,  how- 
ever, it  was  evident  that  the  striiggle  wms  going 
against  him — a hoarse,  alarrnifjg  howd  once  or  twice 
broke  from  him,  that  intimated  terror  and  distress 
on  his  part. 

“That’s  right,  Kate,”  they  shouted,  “ you  have 


304 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


him — press  tight — the  windpipe’s  goin’ — bravo  ! he'll 
soon  stagger  an’  come  down,  an’  then  you  may  do 
as  you  like.” 

They  tugged  on,  and  dragged,  and  panted,  with 
the  furious  vehemence  of  the  exertion  ; when  at 
length  Philip  shouted,  in  a voice  half-stided  by  stran- 
gulation, “ Let  g — o — o — 0,1 — Isa — y — y;  ah!  ah! 
ah ! ” 

Bat  now  ran  over  in  a sprit  of  glee  and  triumph 
that  cannot  well  be  described,  and  clapping  his  wife 
on  the  back,  shouted — “Well  done,  Kate;  stick  to 
him  for  half  a minute  and  he’s  yours.  Bravo  ! you 
clip  o’  perdition,  bravo  ! ” 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  the  giant 
carcass  of  Philip  tottered  and  fell,  dragging  Kate 
along  with  it,  wlio  never  for  a moment  lost  or 
loosened  her  hold.  Her  opponent  now  began  to 
sprawl  and  kick  out  his  feet  from  a sense  of  suffoca- 
tion, and  in  attempting  to  call  for  assistance,  noth- 
ing but  low  deep  gurgling  noises  could  issue  from 
his  lips,  now  livid  with  the  pressure  on  his  throat 
and  covered  with  foam.  His  face  too,  at  all  times 
dark  and  savage,  became  literally  black,  and  he 
uttered  such  sternutations  as,  on  seeing  that  they 
were  accompanied  by  the  diminished  struggles  which 
betoken  exhaustion,  induced  Teddy  to  rush  over  for 
the  purpose  of  rescuing  him  from  her  clutches. 

‘‘  Aisy,”  said  the  others  ; “ let  them  alone — a little 
thing  will  do  it  now — it’s  almost  over — she  has  given 
him  his  gruel — an’  divil’s  cure  to  him — he  knew  well 
enough  what  she  coul  do — but  he  would  have  it.” 

Faint  convulsive  movements  were  all  now  that 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


305 


could  be  noticed  in  the  huge  limbs  of  their  brother, 
and  still  the  savage  tigress  was  at  his  throat,  when 
her  linsband  at  length  said  : — 

“ It’s  time,  Ned — it’s  time— she  may  carry  it  too 
far — he’s  quiet  enougii  novv.  Come  away,  Kate,  it’s 
all  right — let  him  alone — let  go  your  hoult  of  him.” 

Kate,  liowever,  as  if  she  had  tasted  his  blood, 
would  listen  to  no  such  language;  all  tiie  force  and 
energies,  and  bloody  instincts  of  the  incarnate  fury 
were  aroused  within  Imr,  and  she  still  stuck  to  her 
victim. 

“ Be  j ipers  she’ll  kill  him,”  shouted  Bat,  rushing 
to  her;  “come,  Ned,  till  we  unclasp  her — take  care 
— pull  quickly — bloody  wars,  lie’s  dead  ! — Kate,  you 
divil  ! — you  fury  of  hell ! let  go — let  go,  I say.” 

Kale,  however,  heard  liim  not,  but  still  tugged  at 
and  stuck  to  the  throat  of  Pliilip's  qiiiv‘Mang  carcass, 
until  by  a united  effort  tliey  at  length  disentangled 
her  iron  clutches  from  it,  upon  which  she  struggled 
and  howled  like  a beast  of  prey,  and  attempted  with 
a strength  that  seemed  more  akin  to  the  emotion  of 
a devil  than  that  of  a woman  to  get  at  him  again 
and  again,  in  order  to  complete  her  work. 

“ Come,  Kate,”  said  her  husband,  “you’re  a Trojan 
— by  japers  you’re  a Tnqan  ; you’ve  settled  him  any 
way — is  there  life  in  him  ?”  lie  asked,  “ if  there  is, 
dash  wather  or  something  in  his  face,  an’  drag  him 
up  out  o’  that — ha!  ha  1 Well  done,  Kate;  only 
for  you  we’d  lead  a fine  life  wid  him — ay  ! an’  a fine 
life  that  is — a hard  life  we  led  until  you  did  come — 
tliere  now,  more  power  to  you — by  the  livin’  Coun- 
thryman,  there’s  not  your  aq.iil  in  Europe — come 


806 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


now,  settle  down,  an’  don’t  keep  all  mov  in’ that  way 
as  if  you  wor  at  him  agai!! — sit  down  now,  an’  here’s 
another  glass  of  whisky  for  you.” 

In  the  mean  time,  Ned  and  Teddy  Phats  succeed- 
ed in  recovering  Philip,  whom  they  dragged  over 
and  placed  uj)on  a kind  of  bench,  wliere  in  a few 
minutes  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  speak 
— but  ever  and  anon  he  shook  his  head,  and  stretched 
Ids  neck,  and  drew  liis  breath  deeply,  putting  his 
hands  up  from  titne  to  time  as  if  he  strove  to  set  his 
w ind  pi  [)e  more  at  ease. 

‘‘  Here  Phil,  my  hairo,”  said  his  triumphant  brother 
Bat,  “ take  another  glass,  an’  may  be  for  all  so  strong 
and  murdherin’  as  you  are  wid  others  you  now  know 
— an’  you  knew  before  what  our  w^ornan  can  do  at 
liome  wid  you.” 

“I’ve — hoch — lioch — I’ve  done  wid  her — she’s  no 
wmman ; there’s  a devil  in  her,  an’  if  you  take  my 
advice,  it’s  to  Priest  M’Scaddlian  you’d  bring  her, 
an’  have  ilie  same  devil  prayed  out  of  her — I that 
could  murdher  ere  a man  in  the  parist  a’rnost ! ” 

“Live  Bryan  M’Mihon  out,”  said  Kate. 

“No  I won’t,”  replied  Phil,  sullenly,  and  Avith  a 
voice  still  hoarse,  “no,  I won’t — I that  cotild  make 
smash  of  ere  a man  in  the  parish,  to  be  throttled  into 
]>erdition  by  a blasted  w'oman.  She’s  a devil,  I say  ; 
for  the  last  ten  minutes  I seen  nothin’  but  tire,  fire, 
fire,  as  red  as  blazes,  an’  I hard  somethin’  yellin’, 
yellin’,  in  my  ears.” 

“Ay  ! ” r plied  Kate,  “ I know  you  did — tliat  w^as 
the  (ire  of  lu  ll  you  seen,  ready  to  resave  you;  an’ 
the  noise  you  hard  was  the  voices  of  the  devils  that 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


307 


wor  comia’  for  your  sowl — ay,  an’  the  voices  of  the 
two  wives  you  munlhered — take  care  then,  or  I’ll 
send  you  sooner  to  hell  than  you  dlirame  of.” 

The  scowl  which  she  had  in  return  for  this  threat 
was  beyond  all  description. 

“Oh,  I have  done  wid  you,”  he  replied;  “you’re 
not  right,  I say — but  never  mind,  I’ll  put  a pin  in 
M’Mahon’s  collar  for  this — ay  ^^ill  I.” 

“ Don't ! ” siie  exclaimed  in  one  fearful  monosylla- 
ble, and  then  she  added  in  a low  condensed  whisper, 
“or  if  you  do,  mark  the  consequence.” 

“ Trot,  Phil,”  said  Teddy,  “ I thiiik  you  needn’t 
tlirouble  your  head  about  M’Mahon — he’s  done 
fvvhor.” 

“An’  mark  me,”  said  Kate,  “I’ll  take  care  of  the 
man  that  done  for  him.  I know  him  well,  betther 
than  he  suspects,  an’  can  make  him  sup  sorrow  when- 
ever I like — an’  would  too,  only  for  one  thing.” 

“An’  f what’s  dhit  wan  tiling?”  asked  Pliats. 

“ You’ll  know  it  wlien  you’re  ouldiier,  may  be,” 
replied  Kate;  “but  you  must  be  onldher  first — [ 
can  keep  my  own  secrets,  tluuik  God,  an’  will,  too — 
only  mark  me  all  o’  yez  ; you  know  well  what  I am 
— let  no  injury  come  to  Bryan  M'Mahon.  For  the 
sake  of  one  person  he  must  be  safe.” 

“ Well,”  observed  Teddy,  “let  us  hear  no  more 
about  them  ; it’s  all  settled  that  we  are  to  set  up  in 
Glen  Dearg  above  again — for  this  Ilycy, — who’s 
Sthrivin’  to  turn  the  penny  where  he  can.” 

“It  is,”  said  Bat;  “ an’ to-morrow  night,  let  us 
bring  the  things  up — this  election  will  sarve  us  at 
any  rate — but  who  will  come  in  ?”* 

* That  is,  be  reiurned. 


308 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘^The  villain  of  hell !”  suddenly  exclaimed  Kate, 
as  if  to  herself;  ‘‘to  go  to  ruin  the  young  man! 
That  girl’s  breakin’  her  heart  for  what  has  hap- 
pened.” 

“ What  are  you  talkin’  about  ? ” asked  her  hus- 
band. 

“ Nothing, ” she  replied;  “only  if  you  all  intend 
to  have  any  rest  to-night,  throw  yourselves  in  the 
shake-down  there,  an’  go  sleep.  I’m  not  to  sit  up 
the  whole  night  here,  I hope?” 

Philip,  and  Ned,  and  Teddy,  tumbled  themselves 
into  the  straw,  and  in  a few  minutes  were  in  a state 
of  perfect  oblivion. 

“ Hycy  Burke  is  a bad  boy,  Bat,”  she  said,  as  the 
husband  was  about  to  follow  tiieir  exatnple;  “but 
he  is  marked — I’ve  set  my  mark  upon  him.” 

“You  appear  to  know  something  particular  about 
him,”  observed  her  husband. 

“ Maybe  I do,  an’  maybe  I don’t,”  she  replied  ; 
“but  I tell  you,  he’s  marked — that’s  all — go  to  bed 
now.” 

He  tumbled  after  the  rest,  Kate  stretched  herself 
in  an  opposite  corner,  and  in  a lew  minutes  this  sa- 
vage orchestra  was  in  full  chorus. 

What  an  insoluble  enigma  is  woman  ! From  the 
specimen  of  feminine  delicacy  and  modest  diffidence 
whicli  we  have  just  presented  to  the  reader,  who 
would  imagine  that  Kate  Hogan  was  capable  of 
entering  into  the  deep  and  rooted  sorrow  which 
Kathleen  Cavanagh  experienced  when  made 
acquainted  with  tlie  calamity  which  was  about  to 
crush  her  lover.  Yet  so  it  was.  In  truth  this  fierce 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


309 


and  furious  woman  who  was  at  once  a thief,  a liar, 
a drunkard,  and  an*  impostor,  liardened  in  wicked- 
ness and  deceit,  had  in  spite  of  ali  this  a heart  caj)- 
able  of  virtuous  aspirations,  and  of  loving  what  was 
exctllent  and  good.  It  is  true  she  was  a hypocrite 
herself,  yet  she  detested  Ilycy  Burke  for  his  treach- 
ery. Slie  was  a thief  and  a liar,  yet  she  liked  and 
respected  Bryan  M’Mahon  for  his  truth  and  honesty. 
Her  heart,  however,  was  not  all  depraved  ; and,  in- 
deed, it  is  difficult  to  meet  a woman  in  whose  dispo- 
sition, however  corrupted  by  evil  society,  and  de- 
graded by  vice,  there  is  not  to  be  found  a portion  of 
the  angelic  essence  still  remaining.  In  the  case  be- 
fore us,  however,  this  may  be  easily  accounted  for. 
Kate  Hogan,  though  a hell-cat  and  devil,  when  pro- 
voked, was  amidst  all  her  hardened  violence  and 
general  disregard  of  truth  and  honesty,  a virtuous 
woman  and  a faitliful  wife.  Hence  her  natural  re- 
gard for  mucii  that  was  good  and  ]>ure,  and  her 
strong  sympatliy  with  the  sorrow  which  now  fell 
upon  Kathleen  Cavanagh. 

Kathleen  and  her  sister  had  been  sitting  sewing 
at  the  parlor  window,  on  tlte  day  Bryan  had  the 
interview  we  have  detailed  with  Chevydale  and  the 
agent,  when  they  heard  their  father’s  voice  inquiring 
for  Hanna. 

“ He  has  been  at  Jemmy  Burke’s,  Kathleen,” 
said  her  sister,  ‘‘  and  I’ll  wager  a nosegay,  if  one 
could  get  one,  that  he  has  news  of  this  new  sweet- 
heart of  yours;  he’s  bent,  Kathleen,”  she  added, 

to  have  you  in  Jemmy  Burke’s  family,  cost  what 
it  may.” 


310 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“So  it  seems,  TIanna.” 

“They  say  Edward  Burke  is  still  a finer- 
looking  young  lellovv  than  ilyey.  Now  Katlileen,” 
she  added,  laugliing,  “ if  you  should  spoil  a priest 
aflher  all ! Well ! unlikelier  things  have  hap- 
pened.” 

“ That  may  be,”  replied  Kathleen,  “ but  this  vi^on’t 
happen  for  all  that,  Hanna.  Go,  there  he’s  calling 
for  you  again.” 

“ Yes — yes,”  she  shouted  ; “ throth,  among  you 
all,  Kathleen,  you're  making  a regular  go-between 
of  me.  JNly  father  thinks  I can  turn  you  round  my 
fitiger,  and  Bryan  M’Halion  thinks — yes,  I’m 
goin’,”  she  answered  again.  “Well,  keep  up  your 
spirits  ; I’ll  soon  have  news  for  you  about  this  spoil- 
ed priest.” 

“Poor  Hanna,”  thought  Kathleen;  “where  was 
there  ever  such  a sister  ? She  dvjes  all  she  can  to 
keep  my  spirits  up  ; but  it  can’t  be.  How  can  I see 
him  ruined  and  beggared,  that  had  the  high  spirit 
and  the  true  heart  ?” 

Hanna,  her  father,  and  mother  held  a tolerably 
long  discussion  together,  in  which  Kathleen  could 
only  hear  the  tones  of  their  voices  occasionally.  It 
was  evident,  however,  by  the  emphatic  intonations 
of  the  old  couple,  that  they  were  urging  some  cer- 
tain point,  which  her  faiihlul  sister  was  deprecating, 
sometimes,  as  Kathleen  could  learn,  by  serii>us- 
ness,  and  at  other  times  by  mirth.  At  length  she 
returned  with  a countenance  combating  between 
seriousness  and  jest ; the  seriousness,  however,  pre- 
dominating. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


311 


“Kathleen,”  said  she,  “you  never  had  a difficulty 
before  you  uiiLil  now.  Tney  liaven’t  left  me  a h g 
to  stand  upon.  Honest  Jemmy  never  had  any  wish 
to  make  Edward  a priest,  and  l)e  tells  my  father 
that  it  was  all  a trick  of  the  wife  to  get  everything 
for  her  favorite;  and  he’s  now  determined  to  disap- 
point them.  What  will  you  do  ?” 

“What  would  you  recommend  me?”  asked  Kath- 
leen, looking  at  her  with  something  of  her  own 
mood,  for  although  her  brow  was  serious,  yet  there 
was  a slight  smile  upon  her  lips. 

“ Why,”  said  the  frank  and  candid  girl,  “ certain- 
ly to  run  away  with  Bryan  M’Malion  ; that,  you 
know,  would  settle  everything.” 

“ Would  it  settle  my  father’s  heart,”  said  Kath- 
leen, “and  my  mother’s? — would  it  settle  my  own 
character  ? — would  it  be  the  step  that  all  the  world 
would  expect  from  Kathleen  Cavanagh  ? — and 
putting  all  the  world  aside,  would  it  be  a step 
that  I could  take  in  the  sight  of  God,  my  dear 
Ilrinna?” 

“Katlileen,  forgive  me,  darlin’,”  said  her  sister, 
throwing  her  arms  about  her  neck,  and  laying  her 
head  upon  her  shoulder;  “ I’m  a foolish  flighty  crea- 
ture ; indeed,  I don’t  know  what’s  to  be  done,  nor  I 
can’t  advise  you.  Come  out  and  walk  about ; the 
day’s  dry  an’  fine.” 

“ If  your  head  makes  fifty  mistakes,”  said  her  sis- 
ter, “your  heart’s  an  excuse  for  them  all;  but  you 
don’t  make  any  mistakes,  Hanna,  when  you’re  in 
earnest ; instead  of  tiiat  your  head’s  worth  all  our 
heads  put  together.  Come,  now.” 


312 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


They  took  the  Carriglass  road,  but  had  not  gone 
far  when  they  im  t Dora  M’Maiion  who,  as  slie  said, 
‘‘ came  down  to  ask  tliem  up  a while,  as  the  house 
was  now  so  lonesome  and  she  added,  wdih  artless 
naivete,  “I  don’t  know  how  it  is,  Kathleen,  V>ut  I 
love  you  better  now  than  I ever  did  before.  Ever 
since  my  darlin’  motlier  left  us,  I caidt  look  upon 
you  as  a stranger,  and  now  tliat  poor  Bryan’s  in  dis- 
tress, my  heart  clings  to  you  more  and  more.” 

Hanna,  the  generous  Hanna’s  eyes  partook  of  the 
albction  and  admiration  which  beatned  in  Dora’s, 
as  they  rested  on  Kathleen  ; but  notwithstanding 
this,  she  was  about  to  give  Dora  an  ironical  chiding 
lor  omitting  to  say  anything  gratifying  to  herself, 
when  haj)pening  to  look  back,  she  saw  Bryan  at  the 
turn  of  the  road  approaching  them. 

“ Here’s  a friend  of  ours,”  slm  exclaimed;  “no 
less  than  Bryan  M’Mahon  himself.  Come,  Dora,  we 
can’t  go  up  to  Carriglass,  but  we’ll  walk  back  with 
you  a piece  o’  the  way.” 

Bryan,  who  was  then  on  his  return  from  Chevy- 
dale’s,  soon  joined  them,  and  they  proceeded  in  the 
direction  of  his  father’s,  Dora  and  Hanna  having, 
Avith  good-humored  consideration,  gone  forward  as 
an  advanced  guard,  leaving  Bryan  and  Kathleen  to 
enjoy  their  tete-a  tete  behind  them. 

“Dear  Kathleen,”  said  Bryan,  “I  was  very 
anxious  to  see  you.  You’ve  h’ard  of  this  unfortu- 
nate business  that  has  come  upon  me  ?” 

“ I have,”  she  replied,  “ and  I need  not  say  that 
I’m  sorry  for  it.  Is  it,  or  will  it  be  as  bad  as  they 
report  ?” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


313 


“Worse,  Kathleen.  I will  have  the  fine  for  all 
Ahadarra  to  pay  myself.’' 

‘‘13ut  can  nothing  be  done?  Wouldn’t  they  let 
you  off  when  I hey  come  to  hear  that,  although  the 
Still  was  found  upon  your  land,  yet  it  wasn’t  yours, 
nor  it  wasn’t  you  that  was  usin’  it  ?” 

“I  don’t  know  how  that  may  be.  Ilycy  Burke 
tells  me  that  they’ll  be  apt  to  reduce  the  fine,  if 
I send  them  a petition  or  memorial,  or  whatever 
they  call  it,  an’  he’s  to  have  one  written  for  me  to- 
morrow.” 

“ I’m  afraid  Hycy’s  a bad  authority  for  anybody, 
Bryan.” 

“I  don’t  think  you  do  poor  ITycy  justice,  Kath- 
leen; he’s  not,  in  my  opinion,  so  bad  as  you  think 
him.  I don’t  know  a man,  nor  I haven’t  met 
a man  that’s  sorrier  for  what  has  happened  me. 
lie  came  to  see  me  yesterday,  and  to  know  in  what 
way  he  could  serve  me,  an’  wasn’t  called  upon  to 
do  so.” 

“ I hope  you’re  right,  Bryan ; for  why  should  I 
wish  Ilycy  Burke  to  be  a bad  man,  or  why  should  I 
Tvish  him  ill  ? I may  be  mistaken  in  him,  and  I 
hope  I am.” 

“ Indeed,  I think  you  are,  Kathleen ; he’s  wild  a 
good  dt^al,  I grant,  and  has  a spice  of  mischief  in 
him,  and  many  a worthy  young  fellow  has  both.” 

‘‘  That’s  very  true,”  she  replied  ; “ however,  we 
have  hard  bad  enough  of  him.  There’s  none  of  us 
what  we  ought  to  be,  Bryan.  If  you’re  called  upon 
to  pay  this  fine,  what  will  be  the  consequence?” 


14 


314 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAOARRA. 


“ Why,  that  I’ll  have  to  give  up  my  farm— that  I 
won’t  be  left  worth  sixpence.’’ 

“ Who  put  the  still  up  in  Ahadarra  ? ” she  inquir- 
ed. Js  it  true  that  it  was  the  Hogan’s  ?” 

“Indeed  I believe  there’s  no  doubt  about  it,” 
he  replied ; “since  I left  the  landlord’s,  I have  hard 
what  satisfies  me  that  it  was  them  and  Teddy 
Phats.” 

Kathleen  paused  and  sighed.  “ They  are  a vile 
crew,”  she  added,  after  a little ; “ but  be  they  what 
they  may,  they’re  faithful  and  honest,  and  affection- 
ate to  our  family  ; an’  that,  I believe,  is  the  only 
good  about  them.  Bryan,  I am  very  sorry  for  this 
hiisfortune  that  has  come  upon  you.  I am  sorry  for 
your  own  sake.” 

“ And  I,”  replied  Bryan,  “ am  sorry  foi’ — I was 
goin’  to  say — yours  ; but  it  would  be,  after  all,  for 
my  own.  I haven’t  the  same  thoughts  of  you  now, 
dear  Kathleen.” 

She  gazed  quickly,  and  with  some  surprise  at  him, 
and  asked,  “Why  so,  Bryan  ?” 

“ I’m  changed — I’m  a ruined  man,”  he  replied  ; “ I 
had  bright  hopes  of  comfort  and  happiness — hopes 
that  I doubt  will  never  come  to  pass.  However,”  he 
added,  recovering  himself,  and  assuming  a look  of 
cheerfulness,  “ who  knows  if  everything  will  turn 
out  so  badly  as  we  fear?  ” 

“That’s  the  spirit  you  ought  to  show,”  returned 
Kathleen  ; “ You  have  before  you  the  example  of 
a good  father;  don’t  be  cast  down,  nor  look  at  the 
dark  side ; but  you  said  you  had  not  the  same 
thoughts  of  me  just  now;  I don’t  understand  you.” 


THE  EMIGHANtS  OF  AHAt)ARHA. 


S16 


“ Do  you  think,”  he  replied,  with  a smile,  ‘‘  that 
I nu  anl  to  say  my  aftVciion  for  } ou  was  changed  ? 
Oh,  no,  Kathleen  ; but  that  my  situation  is  cliung- 
ed,  or  soon  will  be  so;  and  that  on  that  account  we 
can’t  be  the  same  thing  to  one  another  that  we  have 
been.” 

“ Bryan,”  she  replied,  “ you  may  always  depend 
upon  this,  tliat  so  long  as  you  are  true  to  your  Ood 
and  to  yourst  If,  I will  be  true  to  you.  Depend  upon 
this,  ojive  and  foievei.” 

“ Kathleen,  that’s  like  yourself,  but  I could  not 
think  of  bringing  you  to  shame.”  He  paused,  and 
turning  his  eyes  full  upon  her,  added — “I’m  allow  in’ 
myself  to  sink  again.  Everything  w ill  turn  out  bet- 
ter than  w’e  think,  plaise  God.” 

“1  hope  so,”  she  added,  “ but  whatever  happens, 
Bryan,  do  you  aUays  act  an  open,  honest,  manly 
jtart,  as  1 know  you  will  do;  act  always  so  as  that 
}Our  conscience  can’t  accuse  you,  or  make  you  feel 
lliat  you  have  done  anytldng  that  is  wrong,  or  uu* 
worthy,  or  disgraceful ; and  then,  dear  Bryan,  wel- 
come poverty  may  you  say,  as  I will  welcome  Bryan 
M M.ihon  W'itli  it.” 

Botij  had  paused  for  a little  on  their  way,  and 
stooii  for  about  a minute  moved  by  the  interest 
whicli  each  felt  in  w hat  the  other  uttered.  As  Bry- 
an’s eye  rested  on  the  noble  features  and  command- 
ing figure  of  Kathleen,  he  was  somewhat  startled 
by  tiie  glow^  of  enthusiasm  w hich  lit  both  her  eye 
and  lier  cheek,  ah  hough  he  w as  too  unskilled  in  the 
manilestations  of  character  to  know  that  it  was  en- 
thusiasm she  felt. 


316 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


They  then  proceeded,  and  after  a short  silence 
Bryan  observed — “ Dear  Kathleen,!  know  ihevabie 
of  the  advice  you  are  giving  me,  but  will  you  let  me 
ask  if  you  ever  seen  anything  in  my  conduct,  or  heard 
anything  in  my  conversation,  that  makes  you  think 
it  so  necessary  to  give  it  to  me  ? ” 

“ If  I ever  had,  Bryan,  it’s  not  likely  I’d  be  here 
at  your  side  tlds  day  to  give  it  to  you  ; but  you’re 
now  likely  to  be  brought  into  trials  and  difficulues 
— into  temptation — and  it  is  then  that  you  may  think 
maybe  of  what  I’m  say  in’  now-” 

“Well,  Kathleen,”  he  replied,  smiling,  “ you’re 
determined  at  all  events  that  the  advice  will  come 
before  the  temptation;  but,  indeed,  my  own  dearest 
girl,  my  heart  tliis  moment  is  proud  when  I think 
that  you  are  so  full  of  truth,  an’  feel  in’,  aud  regard 
for  me,  as  to* give  me  such  advice,  and  to  be  able  to 
give  it.  But  still  I hope  I won’t  stand  in  need  of  it, 
anti  tiiat  if  the  temptations  you  spoke  of  come  in 
my  way,  I will  Imve  your  advice — a\',  an’  I trust  in 
God  tile  adviser  too — to  direct  me.” 

“ Are  you  sure,  Bryan,”  and  she  surveyed  liim 
closely  as  she  spoke — “ are  you  sure  that  no  f>art  of 
the  temptation  has  come  across  you  already  ?” 

He  looked  surprised  as  she  asked  him  this  singular 
question.  “ I am,”  said  he  ; “ but,  dear  Kathleen,  I 
can’t  rightly  understand  you.  What  temptations  do 
you  mane  ? ” 

“ Have  you  not  promised  to  vote  for  INIr.  Vanston, 
the  Tory  candidate,  who  never  in  his  life  voted  for 
your  religion  or  your  liberty  ?” 

“ Do  you  mane  me,  dearest  Kathleen  ? ” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


317 


Toil,  certainly  ; who  else  could  I mean  when  I 
ask  you  the  question 

“ Why,  I never  promised  to  vote  for  Vans! on,’*  he 
replied  ; “ an’  what  is  more — but  who  said  1 did  ?” 

“ On  the  day  before  yesterday,”  she  proceeded, 
‘‘two  gentlemen  came  to  our  house  to  canvass  votes, 
and  they  stated  plainly  lliat  you  had  promised  to 
vote  for  them — that  is  for  Vanston.” 

“Well,  Kathleen,  all  I can  say  is,  that  the  state- 
ment is  not  true.  I didn't  promise  for  Vanston,  and 
they  did  not  even  ask  me.  Are  you  sati^'^tied  now  ? 
or  whether  will  you  believe  them  or  me  ?” 

“I  am  satisfied,  dear  Bryan;  I am  more  than 
satisfied  ; for  my  heart  is  easy.  Misfortune  ! what 
signifies  mere  misfortune,  or  the  loss  of  a beggarly 
farm?” 

“ But,  my  darling  Kathleen,  it  is  anytliing  but  a 
beggarly  farm.” 

Kathleen,  however,  heard  liim  not,  but  proceeded. 
“What  signifies  poverty,  Bryan,  or  struggle,  so  long 
as  the  heart  is  right,  and  the  conscience  clear  and 
without  a spot?  Nothing— oh,  nothing  ! As  God 
is  to  judge  me,  I would  rather  beg  my  bread  w ith 
you  as  an  honest  man,  true,  as  I said  awhile  ago,  to 
your  God  and  your  religion,  than  have  an  estate  by 
your  side,  if  you  could  prove  false  to  either.” 

The  vehemence  w^ith  wdiich  she  uttered  these  sen- 
timents, and  the  fire  which  animated  her  w hole  mind 
and  manner,  caused  them  to  pause  again,  and  Bryan, 
to  whom  this  high  enthusiasm  w^as  perfectly  new, 
now  saw  w’ith  something  like  w^onder,  that  the  tears 
were  flowing  down  her  cheeks. 


318 


THE  EMiaRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


lie  caught  her  hand  and  said,  “My  own  darling 
Kathleen,  the  longer  I know  you  the  more  I see 
your  value;  but  make  your  mind  easy;  wdien  I be- 
come a traitor  to  either  God  or  my  religion,  you  may 
renounce  me ! ’ 

“ Don't  be  surprised  at  these  tears,  Bryan  ; don’t, 
my  dear  Bryan  ; for  you  may  look  upon  tliem  as  a 
proof  of  how  much  I love  you,  and  what  I would 
feel  if  the  man  I love  should  do  anything  unwor- 
thy, or  treacherous,  to  his  religion  or  his  suffering 
country.” 

“ How  could  I,”  he  replied,  “ with  my  own  dear 
Kathleen,  that  will  be  a guardian  angel  to  me,  to 
advise  and  guide  me?  Well,  now  that  your  mind  is 
aisy,  Kathleen,  mine  I think  is  brighter  too.  I have 
no  doubt  but  we’ll  be  happy  yet — at  least  I trust  in 
God  we  will.  Who  know^s  but  everything  may 
prove  betlher  than  our  expectations;  and  as  you 
say,  they  may  make  a poor  man  of  me,  and  ruin  me, 
but  so  long  as  I can  keep  my  good  name,  and  am 
true  to  my  country,  and  my  God,  I can  never  com- 
plain.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


319 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

INTERVIEW  BETWEEN  HYCY  AND  FINIGAN— THE  FOR- 
MER PROPOSES  FOR  MISS  CLINTON — A LOVE  SCENE. 

IIycy,  after  his  conversation  with  Bryan  M’Ma- 
hon,  lelt  satisfied  that  he  had  removed  all  jjossihle 
8us|)icion  from  himself,  but  at  the  same  time  he  ran- 
sackefi  hivS  mind  in  order  to  try  who  it  was  that  had  be- 
trayed him  to  Bryan.  The  Hogans  he  had  no  reason 
to  suspect,  because  from  experience  he  knew  them  to 
be  possessed  of  a desperate  and  unscrupulous  fidelity, 
in  excellent  keeping  with  their  savage  character ; 
and  to  suspect  Teddy  Phats  was  to  su])pose  that  an 
inveterate  and  incurable  smuggler  would  inform 
upon  him.  After  a good  deal  of  cogitation,  he  at 
length  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  schoolmaster, 
Finigan,  must  have  been  the  traitor,  and  with  this 
impression  he  resolved  to  give  tiiat  worthy  person- 
age a call  upon  his  way  home.  He  found  him  as 
usual  at  full  work,  and  as  usual  also,  in  that  state 
which  is  commonly  termed  imlf  drunk,  a state,  by 
the  way,  in  which  the  learned  pedagogue  generally 
contrived  to  keep  himself  night  and  day.  Hycy  did 
not  enter  his  establishment,  but  after  having  called 
him  once  or  twice  to  no  purpose — for  such  was  the 
din  of  the  school  that  his  voice  could  not  penetrate 
it — he  at  length  knocked  against  the  half  open  door, 
which  caused  him  to  be  both  seen  and  heard  more 
distinctly.  On  seeing  him,  tlie  schoolmaster  got  to 


320 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


his  limbs,  and  was  about  to  address  him,  when  Hycy 
said — 

“Finigan,  I wish  to  speak  a few  words  to  you.” 

“ O’Finigan,  sir — O’Finigan,  Mr.  Burkf\  It  is 
enough,  sir,  to  be  deprived  of  our  hereditary  terri- 
tories, without  being  clipped  of  our  names  ; they 
should  lave  us  those  at  all  events  unmutilated.  O’- 
Finigan, therefore,  Mr.  Burke,  whenever  you  address 
me,  if  you  plaise.” 

‘‘Well,  Mr.  O’Finigan,”  continued  Hycy,  “if  not 
inconvenient,  I should  wish  to  speak  a few  words 
wdth  you.” 

“No  inconvenience  in  the  world, Mr.  Burke;  I am 
alwaj-8  disposed  to  oblige  my  friends  whenever  I 
can  do  so  wid  propriety.  My  advice,  sir,  my  friend- 
ship, and  my  purse,  are  always  at  their  service.  My 
advice  to  guide  tliem — my  friendsiiip  to  sustain — 
and  my  purse — hem! — ha,  ha,  lia — I think  I may 
clap  a payriod  or  full  stop  there,”  he  added,  laugh- 
ing, “inasmuch  as  the  last  approaches  very  near  to 
what  philosophers  term  a vacuum  or  non  en-ity. 
Gintlemen,”  he  proceeded,  addressing  the  schol  ars, 
“I  am  going  over  to  Lanty  Ilanratty’s  for  a while 
to  enjoy  a social  cup  wid  Mr.  Burke  here,  and  as 
that  fact  will  cause  the  existence  of  a sliort  inter- 
regnnm^  I now  publicly  appoint  Gusty  Carney  as 
my  locum  tenens  until  I resume  llio  reins  of  govern- 
ment on  my  return.  Gusty,  put  the  names  of  all 
cftenders  down  on  a slate,  and  when  I return  ‘ con- 
dign'* is  the  word;  an’ see,  Gusty — mark  me  well 
— no  bribery — no  bread  nor  buttons,  nor  any  other 
materials  of  corruption  from  the  culprits — otherwise 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


321 


yon  shall  become  their  substitute  in  the  castigation, 
and  1 all  all  teach  you  to  look  one  way  and  feel 
anotiier,  my  worthy  con-disciple.” 

‘•Now,  Finigan — I beg  yonr  pardon — O'Finigan,” 
said  Hycy,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  little  back 
tap-room  of  the  pnV)lic-honse  with  refreshments  be- 
fore them,  “ I tliink  I have  reason  to  be  seriously 
displeased  with  you,” 

“ Displeased  wid  me  ! ” exclaimed  his  companion  ; 
“ and  may  I take  the  liberty  to  interrogate  where- 
fore, Mr.  Ilycy  ? ” 

“You  misrepresented  me  to  Bryan  M’Mahon,’ 
said  Hycy. 

“ Upon  what  grounds  and  authority  do  you  spake, 
sir?”  asked  Finigan,  whose  dignity  was  beginning 
to  take  offence. 

“I  have  good  grounds  and  excellent  authority  for 
what  I say,”  replied  Hycy.  “You  have  aeted  a 
very  dishonorable  part,  Mr.  Finigan,  and  the  con- 
sequence is  that  I have  ceased  to  be  your  friend.” 

“ I act  a dishonorable  part.  Wliy,  sir,  I scorn 
the  imputation  ; but  how  have  I acted  a dishonora- 
ble pan?  that’s  the  point.” 

“ You  put  Bryan  M'Mahon  upon  his  guard  against 
me,  and  consequently  left  an  impression  on  his  mind 
that  I was  his  enemy.” 

“ Well,”  said  the  other,  with  a good  deal  of  irony, 
“that  is  good!  Have  I,  indeed  ? And  pray,  Mr. 
Burke,  who  says  so  ? ” 

“I  have  already  stated  that  my  authority  for  it  is 
good.” 

“But  you  must  name  your  authority,  sir;  no 


822 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


lurking  assassin  shall  be  permitted  wid  impunity  to 
stab  my  fair  reputation  wid  the  foul  dagger  of 
calumny  and  scandal.  Name  your  authority,  sir.” 

“ I could  do  so.” 

“Well,  sir,  why  don’t  you?  Let  me  liear  the 
name  of  the  illiterate  miscreant,  whoever  he  is,  that 
has  dared  to  tamper  wid  my  unblemished  fame.” 

“All  I ask  you,”  continued  Hycy,  “ is  to  candidly 
admit  the  fact,  and  state  why  you  acted  as  you 
did.” 

“ Name  your  authority,  sir,  and  then  I shall  speak. 
Perhaps  I did,  and  perhaps  I did  not;  but  when 
you  name  your  authority  I shall  then  give  you  a 
more  satisfactory  reply.  That’s  the  language — the 
elevated  language — of  a gentleman,  Mr.  Burke.” 

“My  authority  ti)en  is  no  other  than  Bryan  M’- 
Mahon  liimself,”  replied  Hycy,  “ who  told  me  that 
he  was  cautioned  against  me;  so  that  I hope  you’re 
now  satisfied.” 

“ Mr.  Burke,”  replied  Finigan,  assuming  a lofty 
and  impressive  manner,  “ I have  known  the  M’Ma- 
hons  for  better  than  forty  years;  so,  in  fact,  has  the 
country  around  them  ; and  until  the  present  moment 
I never  heard  that  a deliberate  falseiiood,  or  any 
breach  of  truth  whatsoever,  was  imputed  to  any  one 
of  them.  Tom  M'Mahon’s  simple  word  was  never 
doubted,  and  would  pass  aquil  to  many  a man’s  oath  ; 
and  it  is  the  same  thing  wid  the  whole  family,  man 
and  woman.  They  are  proverb!  il,  sir,  for  trutli  and 
integrity,  and  a most  spontaneous  effusion  of  candor 
under  all  circumstances.  You  will  pardon  me  then, 
Mr.  Hycy,  if  I avow  a trifle  of  heresy  in  this  matter. 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AHADARHA. 


828 


You  are  yourself,  wid  great  respect  be  it  spoken, 
soiuetiriies  said  to  sport  your  imagination  occasion- 
ally, and  to  try  your  hand  wid  considerable  success 
at  a lapsus  veritatis.  Pardon  me,  then.  It  I think  it 
somewhat  more  probable  that  you  liave  just  now- 
stated  what  an  ould  instructor  of  mine  used  to  call  a 
moral  thumper;  excuse‘me,  I say;  and  at  all  events 
I liave  the  pleasure  of  drinking  your  health  ; and 
if  my  conjecture  be  appropriate,  here’s  also  a some- 
what closer  adhesion  to  the  veritas  aforesaid  to 
you ! ” 

“Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I’m  stating  what 
is  not  true  ? ” said  Burke,  assuming  an  offended 
look,  which,  however,  he  did  not  feel, 

“No  sir,”  replied  Finigan,  retorting  liis  look  with 
one  of  indignant  scorn,  “ far  be  it  from  me  to  insin- 
uate any  such  thing.  I broadly,  and  in  all  the  lati- 
tudinarianism  of  honest  indignation  assert,  that  it  is 
a d — d lie,  begging  your  pardon,  and  drinking  to 
your  moral  improvement  a second  time;  and  ere 
you  respond  to  what  I’ve  said,  it  would  be  as  well, 
in  order  to  have  tlie  matter  copiously  discussed,  if 
you  ordhered  in  a fresh  supply  of  liquor,  and  help 
yourself,  for  if  the  proverb  be  true — in  vino  veritas 
— tliere  it  is  again,  but  truth  will  be  out  you  see — 
who  knows  but  we  may  come  to  a th rifle  of  it  from 
you  yet  ? Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! Excuse  the  jest,  Mr, 
Ilycy.  You  remember  little  Horace, — 

“ ‘ Quid  vetat  ridentein  dlcere  verum?  ’ ” 

“Do  you  meau  to  say,  sirra,”  said  Hycy,  “that 
I’ve  stated  a lie?” 


824 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ I mean  to  say  that  whoever  asserts  that  I mis- 
represented you  in  any  way  to  Bryan  M’Mahon,  or 
ever  cautioned  him  against  you,  slates  a lie  of  the 
first  magnitude — a moral  thumper  of  gigauiic  di- 
mensions.” 

“ Well  will  you  tell  me  wliat  you  did  say  to  him  ? ” 

“ What  I did  say,”  echoed  Finigan.  “ Well,”  he 
added,  after  a pause,  during  whicii  he  surveyed 
Hycy  pretty  closely — having  now  discovered  tliat 
he  was  in  fact  only  proceeding  upon  mere  suspicion 
— “ I believe  I must  acknowledge  a portion  of  the 
misrepresentation.  .1  must,  on  secondary  considera- 
tion, plead  guilty  to  that  fact.” 

“I  thought  as  muclj,”  said  Hycy. 

“ Here  then,”  proceeded  Finigan,  with  a broad 
and  provoking  grin  upon  his  coarse  but  liumorous 
features,  “here,  Mr.  Hycy,  is  w^hat  1 did  say — says 
I,  ‘Bryan,  I have  a word  to  say  to  you,  touching  an 
accomplished  young  gentleman,  a friend  of  yours.’  ” 

“‘What  is  that?’  asked  the  w’orthy  Bernardus. 

“‘It  is  regarding  the  all-accomplished  Mr.  Hya- 
cinth us  Burke,’  I replied,  ‘ who  is  a homo  factm 
adungiiem,  Mr.  Burke,  Bryan,’  I proceeded,  ‘is  a 
gentleman  in  the — hem— true  sense  of  that  word. 
He  is  generous,  candid,  faithful,  and  honest;  and  in 
association  wid  all  his  other  excellent  qualities  he  is 
celebrated,  among  the  select  few  wdio  know  him  best, 
for  an  extraordinary  attachment  to — truth.’  Now 
if  that  wasn’t  misrepresentation,  Mr.  Hycy,  I don't 
know  what  w^  as.  Ila  ! ha!  ha!” 

“ You’re  half  drunk,”  replh*d  Hycy,  “ or  I should 
rather  say  whole  drunk,  I think,  and  scarcely  know 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


325 


what  you’re  saying;  or  rather,  I believe  youVe  a 
bit  of  a knave,  Mr.  O’Firiigan.” 

‘‘‘Thanks,  sir,  many  thanks,  for  the  prefix.  Pro- 
cee(i.” 

“I  have  nothing  more  to  add,”  replied  Ilycv, 
rising  up  and  preparing  to  go. 

“Ay,”  said  Finigan,  with  anotlier  grin,  “ a bit  of 
a knave,  am  I ? Well,  now,  isn’t  it  better  to  be  only 
a bit  of  a knave  than  a knave  all  out — a knave  in 
full  proportions,  from  top  to  toe,  from  head  to  lieel 
— like  some  accomplished  gentlemen  that  I have  the 
honor  of  being  acquainted  wid.  But  in  tlie  mean 
time,  now,  don’t  be  in  a hurry,  man  alive,  nor  look 
as  if  you  were  fatted  on  vinegar.  Sit  down  again  ; 
ordher  in  another  libation,  and  I shall  make  a dis- 
closure that  will  be  worth  your  waiting  for.” 

“You  sitall  have  the  libation,  as  you  call  it,  at  all 
events,”  said  Ilycy,  resuming  his  seat,  but  feeling  at 
tlie  same  time  by  no  means  satisfied  with  the  lark- 
ing grin  which  occasionally  played  over  Finigan’s 
features. 

After  much  chat  and  banter,  and  several  attempts 
on  the  part  of  ITycy  to  insinuate  liirnself  into  the  j)ed- 
agogue’s  confidence,  he  at  length  rose  to  go.  Ilis 
companion  was  now  in  that  state  which  strongly 
borders  on  inebriety,  and  he  calculated  tliat  if  it  were 
possible  to  worm  anything  out  of  liim,  he  was  now  in 
the  best  condition  for  it.  Every  effort,  however,  was 
in  vain;  whenever  he  pressed  the  schoolmaster 
closely,  the  vague  blank  expression  of  intoxication 
disa}>peared  for  a moment,  and  was  replaced  by  the 
broad  humorous  ridicule,  full  of  self-possession  and 


326 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


consciousness,  which  always  chararterized  Finigan, 
whether  drunk  or  sober.  The  man  was  naturaliy 
conning,  and  ranked  among  a certain  class  of  topers 
who  can  be  made  drunk  to  a certain  extent,  and 
upon  some  particular  sul»jects,  but  who  beyond  that, 
and  with  these  limitations,  defy  the  influence  of 
liquor. 

llycy  Burke  was  one  of  those  men  who,  with 
smart  and  showy  qualities  and  great  plausibility  of 
manner,  was  yet  altogether  without  purpose  or  stead- 
fast principle  in  the  most  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  lie 
had  no  fixed  notions  upon  either  morals,  religion,  or 
politics  ; and  when  we  say  so  we  may  a id,  that  he  was 
equally  witliout  motive — that  is,  without*  adequate 
motive,  in  almost  everything  he  did. 

The  canvass  was  now''  going  on  wdth  great  zeal  on 
the  part  of  Chevy  dale  and  Vanston.  Sometimes 
Ilycy  was  disposed  to  support  the  one  and  sometimes 
the  other,  but  as  to  feeling  a firm  attachment  to  the 
cause  or  principles  of  either,  it  was  not  in  his  na- 
ture. 

Indeed  the  approach  of  a general  election  is  at  all 
times  calculated  to  All  the  heart  of  a thinking  man 
with  a strong  sense  of  shame  for  his  kind,  and  of 
sorrow  for  the  unreasoning  and  brutal  tendency  to 
slavery  and  degradation  wdiich  it  exhibits.  Upon 
this  occasion  the  canvass,  in  consequence  of  the  des- 
perate struggle  that  must  ensue,  owing  to  the  equali- 
ty of  the  opposing  forces,  was  a remarkably  early  one. 
Party  fVeling  and  religious  animosity,  as  is  usual,  ran 
very  Ingh,  each  having  been  made  the  mere  stalking- 
horse  or  catchword  of  the  rival  candidates,  who 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


827 


cared  nothing,  or  at  least  very  little  about  the 
mai-ses  on  eillier  side,  provi«]ed  al  vays  that  they 
could  turn  them  to  sbnie  advantage. 

It  was  one  morning  after  the  canvass  had  been 
going  forward  willi  great  activity  on  both  sides  lor 
about  a week,  tiiat  Hycy,  who  now  fell  iiiinself  rath- 
er peculiaily  placed,  rode  down  to  Clinton’s  for  the 
jmrpose  of  fornially  paying  Ids  addresses  to  the 
guager’s  interesting  niece,  and,  if  possible,  ascertain- 
ing his  fate  from  her  own  lips.  His  brother  Edward 
had  now  been  brought  home  in  aeconlance  with  the 
expressed  determination  of  his  father,  with  whom  he 
was,  unquestionably,  a manifest  favorite,  a circum- 
stance which  caused  Ilycy  to  detest  Ijirn,  and  also 
de|>rived  him  in  a great  degree  of  his  mother’s  afFec- 
tiofis.  Hycy  had  now  resolved  to  pay  his  devoirs 
to  Kathleen  Cavatiagh,  as  a dernier  resort^  in  the 
eve!»t  of  his  failing  with  Miss  Clinton  ; for,  as  re- 
garding affection,  he  had  no  earthly  concepiion  of 
what  it  meant.  With  this  view  he  rode  down  to 
Clinton’s  as  we  said,  and  met  Harry  coming  out  of 
the  stable. 

‘‘  Harry,”  said  he,  after  his  horse  was  put  up,  “ I 
am  about  to  ask  an  interview  with  your  sister.” 

“ I don’t  think  she  will  grant  it,”  replied  her 
brother,  ‘‘  you  are  by  no  means  a favorite  with  lier ; 
however,  you  can  try  ; perhaps  she  may.  You  know 
the  old  adage,  ‘ varium  et  mntabile  semper?  Who 
knows  but  she  may  have  changed  her  mind?” 

“ Is  your  uncle  within  ?”  asked  Hycy. 

“ No,”  replied  his  nephew,  “he’s  gone  to  Fether- 
tonge’s  upon  some  election  business.” 


328 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Could  you  not  contrive,”  said  Hycy,  to  leave 
her  and  me  together,  then,  and  allov/  me  to  ascer- 
tain what  I am  to  expect?”  ^ 

“ Come  in,”  said  Harry — “ never  say  it  again.  If 
I can  I will.” 

Ilycy,  as  we  have  stated  before,  had  vast  confi- 
dence in  his  own  powers  of  persuasion  and  general 
influence  with  women,  and  on  this  occasion  his  really 
handsome  features  were  made  vulgar  by  a smirk  of 
self-conceit  which  he  could  not  conceal,  owing  to  his 
natural  vanity  and  a presentiment  of  success  that  is 
almost  ins(‘parable  from  persons  of  his  class,  who 
can  scarcely  look  even  upon  the  most  positive  and 
and  decided  rejection  by  a woman  as  coming  serious- 
ly from  her  heart.  Even  Harry  Clinton  himself, 
though  but  a young  man,  thought,  as  he  afterwards 
stated  to  his  sister,  that  he  never  saw  Hycy  have  so 
much  the  appearance  of  a puppy  as  upon  that  occa- 
sion. As  had  been  proposed,  he  withdrew,  liowever, 
and  the  lover  being  left  in  the  drawing  room  with 
Miss  Clinton  began,  with  a simper  that  was  rather 
coxcombical,  to  make  allusions  to  the  weather,  but 
in  such  a way  as  if  there  was  some  deep  but  delight- 
ful moaning  veiled  under  his  commonplaces.  At 
length  he  came  directly  to  the  point. 

“ But  passing  from  the  weather.  Miss  Clinton,  to  a 
mucii  more  agreeable  topic,  permit  me  to  ask  if  you 
have  ever  turned  your  thoughts  upon  matrimony?” 

The  hectic  of  a moment,  as  Sterne  says,  accom- 
panied by  a look  that  slightly  intimated  disph'asure, 
or  something  like  it,  was  the  only  reply  he  received 
for  about  a quarter  of  a minute,  when  she  said,  after 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


829 


the  feeling  probably  had  passed  away — “ No,  indeed, 
Mr.  Burke,  I have  not.” 

“ Come,  come.  Miss  Clinton,”  said  Hycy,  witli  an- 
otlier  smirk,  “ tiiat  won't  pass.  Is  it  not  laid  down 
by  the  philosophers  that  you  think  of  little  else  from 
tlie  time  you  are  marriageable?” 

“ By  what  philosophers?  ” 

“ Wliy,  let  me  see — by  the  philosophers  in  general 
— ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” 

‘‘  I was  not  aware  of  that,”  she  replied  ; “ but  even 
if  tiiey  have  so  ruled  it,  I see  no  inference  we  can 
draw  from  that,  except  their  ignorance  of  the  sub- 
ject.-’ 

•‘It  is  so  ruled,  however,”  said  Hycy,  ‘‘‘and  philo- 
sophy is  against  you.” 

“I  am  willing  it  should,  Mr.  Burke,  provided  we 
have  truth  with  us.” 

“Very  good,  indeed.  Miss  Clinton — that  was  well 
said  ; but  seriously,  have  you  ever  thought  of  mar- 
riage ? ” 

“Doesn’t  philosophy  say  that  we  seldom  think  of 
anything  else  ? ” she  replied,  smilling.  “Ask  philo- 
sophy, then.” 

“ But  til  is  really  is  a subject  in  whicli  I feel  a par- 
ticular interest — a personal  interest ; but,  as  for 
philosophy,  I despise  it— tliat  is  as  it  is  usually  un- 
derstood. The  only  philosophy  of  life  is  love,  and 
that  is  my  d.)C trine.” 

“ Is  tliat  your  only  doctrine.” 

“Pretty  nearly  ; but  it  is  much  the  same  as  that 
whicii  appears  in  the  world  under  the  different  dis- 
guises of  religion.” 


330 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ I trust  you  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  love  and 
religion  are  the  same  thing,  Mr.  Burke  ? ” 

‘^Ido;  the  terms  are  purely  convertible.  Love 
is  the  universal  religion  of  man,  and  he  is  most  re- 
ligious who  feels  it  most;  that  is  your  only  genuine 
piety.  For  instance,  I am  myself  in  a most  exalted 
state  of  that  same  p'iety  this  moment,  and  have  been 
so  lor  a considerable  time  past.” 

Miss  Clinton  felt  a good  deal  embarrassed  by  the 
easy  profligacy  that  was  expressed  in  these  senti- 
ments, and  she  made  an  effort  to  change  the  sub- 
ject. 

“ Are  you  taking  part  in  the  canvass  which  is  go- 
ing on  in  the  country,  Mr.  Burke?” 

Not  much,”  said  he ; ‘‘  I despise  politics  as  much 
as  I cherish  the  little  rosy  god  ; but  really.  Miss 
Clinton,  I feel  anxious  to  know  your  opinions  on  mar- 
riage, and  you  have  not  stated  them.  Do  you  not 
think  the  imptial  state  the  happiest?” 

“It’s  a subject  I feel  no  inclination  whatsover  to 
discuss,  Mr.  Burke  ; it  is  a subject,  winch,  personally 
speaking,  has  never  occupied  from  me  one  moment’s 
thought;  and,  having  said  so  much,  I trust  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  select  some  other  topic  for  con- 
versation.” 

“But  I am  so  circumstanced,  just  now,Miss  Clin- 
ton, that  I cannot  really  change  it.  The  truth  is, 
that  I have  felt  very  much  attached  to  you  for  some 
time  past — upon  my  wvu'd  and  h'>n ur  I have:  it’s  a 
fact,  I assure  yon,  Miss  Clinton;  and  I now  beg  to 
make  you  a tender  of  myself  and — and — of  all  I am 
possessed  of.  I am  a most  ardent  admirer  of  yours  ; 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


331 


and  the  utmost  extent  of  my  ambition  is  to  become 
an  accepted  one.  Do  tlien,  my  dear  Miss  Clinton, 
allow  me  the  charming  privilege — pray,  do.’’ 

“ What  will  be  the  consequence  il  I do  not  ? ” she 
replied,  smiling. 

“ Upon  my  word  and  honor,  I shall  go  nearly  dis- 
tracted, and  get  quite  melancholy  ; my  happiness 
depends  upon  you.  Miss  Clinton ; you  are  a very 
delightful  girl,  quite  a nonpareil,  and  I trust  you  will 
treat  me  with  kindness  and  consideration.” 

“Mr.  Burke,”  replied  the  lady,  “ I am  much  oblig- 
ed for  the  preference  you  express  for  me  ; but  wheth- 
er you  are  serious  or  in  jest,  I can  only  say  that  I 
have  no  notinii  of  matrimony  ; that  I have  never 
had  any  notion  of  it;  and  that  I can  safely  say,  I 
have  never  seen  the  man  whom  I should  wish  to  call 
my  husband.  You  will  oblige  me  very  much,  then, 
if  ill  future  you  forbear  to  introduce  this  subject. 
Consider  it  a forbidden  one,  so  far  as  I am  concerned, 
for  I feel  quite  unworthy  of  so  gifted  and  accom- 
plished a gentleman  as  Mr.  Burke.” 

“You  will  not  discard  me  surely.  Miss  Clinton  ?” 

“ On  that  subject,  unquestionably.” 

“ No,  no,  my  dear  Miss  Clinton,  you  will  not  say 
so ; do  not  be  so  cruel ; you  will  distress  me 
greatly,  I assure  yeu.  I am  very  much  deficient  in 
firmness,  and  your  cruelty  will  afflict  me  and  depress 
my  s pi  I its.” 

“ I trust  not,  Mr.  Burke.  Your  spirits  are  natu- 
rally good,  and  1 have  no  doubt  but  you  will  ulti- 
mately overcome  this  calamity — at  least  I sincerely 
hope  so.” 


332 


THE  EMIGBANTS  OF  AHADAPwRA. 


“ Ah,  Miss  Clinton,  you  little  know  the  heart  1 
have,  nor  my  capacity  f *r  feeling;  my  feelings,  I as- 
sure you,  are  exceedingly  tender,  and  I get  quite  sunk 
under  disappointment.  Come,  Miss  Clinton,  you 
must  not  deprive  me  altogether  of  hope;  it  is  too 
cruel.  Do  not  say  no  forever.” 

The  arch  girl  shook  her  head  with  something  of 
mock  solemnity,  and  replied,  “ I must  indeed,  Mr. 
Burke  ; the  fatal  no  must  be  pronounced,  and  in  con- 
nexion with  for  ever  loo;  and  unless  you  have  much 
virtue  to  sustain  you,  I fear  you  run  a great  risk  of 
dying  a martyr  to  a negative.  I would  fain  hoj>e, 
however,  that  the  virtue  I allude  to,  and  your  well- 
known  sense  of  religion,  will  support  you  under  such 
a trial.” 

This  was  uttered  in  a tone  of  grave  ironical  sym- 
pathy that  not  only  gave  it  peculiar  severity,  but 
intimated  to  Ilycy  that  his  character  was  fully  un- 
derstood. 

‘‘  Well,  Miss  Clinton,”  said  he,  rising  with  a coun- 
tenance in  which  there  was  a considerable  struggle 
between  self  conceit  and  mortification,  a struggle 
which  in  fact  was  exceedingly  ludicrous  in  itsefiect, 
“ I must  only  hope  that  you  probably  may  change 
your  mind.” 

‘‘Mr.  Burke,”  said  she,  with  a grave  and  serious 
dignity  that  was  designed  to  terminate  the  interview, 
“ there  are  subjects  upon  which  a girl  of  delicacy 
and  principle  never  can  chaiige  her  mind,  and  this  I 
feel  obliged  to  say,  once  for  all,  is  one  of  them.  I 
am  now  my  uncle’s  housekeeper,”  she  added,  taking 
up  a bunch  of  keys,  “ and  you  must  permit  me  to 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


333 


wish  you  a good  morning,”  saying  vvliicli,  with  a cool 
but  veiw  polite  inelinaiion  of  her  head,  she  dismissed 
Ilycy  the  accon^plislied,  w ho  cut  anything  but  a dig- 
nified figure  as  he  vvitlidrew. 

“Well,”  said  her  brother,  who  was  reading  a 
newspaper  in  the  parlor,  “is  the  report  favorable  ?” 

“No,”  replied  Ilycy,  “anything  but  favorable. 
I fear.  Marry,  you  have  not  played  me  fair  in  this 
business.” 

“How  is  that?”  asked  the  other,  rather  quickly. 

“1  fear  you’ve  prejudiced  your  sister  against  me, 
and  that  instead  of  giving  me  a clear  stage,  you 
gave  me  the  ‘no  favor’  portion  of  the  adage 
only.” 

“ I am  not  in  the  habit  of  stating  a falsehood, 
Ilycy,  nor  of  having  any  assertion  I make  question- 
ed; I have  already  told  you,  I think,  that  I would 
not  prejudice  my  sister  against  you.  I now  repeat 
that  I have  not  done  so;  but  I cannot  account  for 
her  prejudices  against  you  any  more  than  I shall 
attempt  to  contradict  or  combat  them,  so  far  from 
that  I now  tell  you,  that  if  she  were  unfortunately 
dis|>oseJ  to  marry  you,  I would  endeavor  to  prevent 
her.” 

“ And  pray  why  so,  Harry,  if  it  is  a fair  ques- 
tion ? ” 

“ Perfeetly  fair;  simply  because  I should  not  wish 
to  see  my  sister  married  to  a man  unburthened  with 
any  kin(i  o(  principle.  In  fact,  without  the  slightest 
intention  whatsoever,  Ilycy,  to  offer  you  offence,  I 
must  say  that  you  are  not  the  man  to  whom  I should 
entrust  Maria’s  peace  and  happiness;  I am  her  only 


334 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


brother,  and  liave  a riglit  to  speak  as  I do.  I consid- 
er it  my  duty.” 

“Certainly,’^  replied  Ilycy,  “if  you  think  so,  I 
cannot  blame  you  ; but  I see  clearly  that  you  mis- 
understand my  character — tliat  is  all.” 

They  separated  in  a few  minutes  afterwards,  and 
Ilycy  in  a very  serious  and  irritable  mood  rode 
homewards.  In  truth  his  prospects  at  this  peculiar 
period  were  anything  but  agreeable.  Here  his  love- 
suit,  if  it  could  be  called  so,  had  just  been  rejected 
by  Miss  Clinton,  in  a manner  that  utterly  precluded 
all  future  hope  in  that  quarter.  With  Kathleen  Ca- 
vanagh  he  had  been  equally  unsuccessful.  His  bro- 
ther Edward  was  now  at  home,  too,  a favorite  with, 
and  inseparable  from  his  fatlier,  who  of  late  main- 
tained any  intercourse  that  took  place  between  him- 
self and  Ilyey,  with  a spirit  of  cool,  easy  sarcasm, 
that  was  worse  than  anger  itself.  Ilis  mother,  also, 
in  consequence  of  her  unjustifiable  attempts  to  de- 
fend her  son’s  irregularities,  had  lost  nearly  all  in- 
fluence with  her  Husband,  and  if  the  latter  should 
w^ithdraw,  as  he  had  threatened  to  do,  the  allowance 
of  a hundred  a year  with  which  he  supplied  him,  lie 
scarcely  saw  on  what  hand  he  could  turn.  With 
Kathleen  Cavanagh  and  Miss  Clinton  he  now  felt 
equally  indignant,  nor  did  his  friend  Harry  escape  a 
strong  poriion  of  his  ill-will.  Ilycy,  not  being  over- 
burthened  with  either  a love  or  praclice  of  truth  him- 
self, could  not  for  a moment  yield  credence  to  the 
assertion  of  young  Clinton,  that  he  took  no  steps 
to  prejudice  his  sister  again ^t  him.  lie  took  it  for 
granted,  therefore,  that  it  was  to  his  interference  he 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OE  AHAHARRA. 


335 


owed  the  reception  he  had  just  got,  and  he  determin- 
ed in  some  way  or  other  to  repay  him  for  the  ill-ser- 
vices he  had  rendered  liim. 

The  feeling  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  with  wliich 
Bryan  M’Mahon  parted  from  his  landlord  and  Feth- 
erionge  the  agent,  after  the  interview  we  have  al- 
ready described,  lost  none  of  their  strength  by  time. 
Hycy’s  memorial  had  been  entrusted  to  Chevydale, 
who  certainly  promised  to  put  his  case  strongly  be- 
fore the  Commissioners  of  Excise  ; and  Bryan  at  first 
had  every  reason  to  suppose  that  he  would  do  so. 
Whether  in  consequence  of  that  negligence  of  his 
promise,  for  which  he  was  rather  remarkable,  or  from 
some  sinister  influence  that  may  have  been  exercised 
over  him,  it  is  difficult  to  say,  but  the  fact  was  that 
Bryan  had  now  only  ten  days  between  him  and  ab- 
solute ruin.  He  had  taken  the  trouble  to  write  to 
the  Secretary  of  Excise  to  know  if  his  memorial  had 
been  laid  before  them,  and  supported  by  Mr.  Chevy- 
dale, who,  he  said,  knew  the  circumstances,  and  re- 
ceived a reply,  stating  that  no  such  memorial  had 
been  sent,  and  that  Mr.  Chevydale  had  taken  no 
steps  in  the  matter  whatsoever.  We  shall  not  now 
enter  into  a detail  of  all  the  visits  he  Imd  made  to 
his  landlord,  whom  he  could  never  see  a second  time, 
however,  notwithstanding  repeated  solicitations  to 
that  effect.  Fethertonge  he  did  see,  and  always 
was  assured  by  him  that  his  case  was  safe  and  in 
good  hands. 

“You  are  quite  mistaken,  Bryan,”  said  he,  “ if 
you  think  that  either  he  or  I have  any  intention  of 
neglecting  your  affair.  You  know  yourself,  however, 


336 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


that  he  has  not  a moment  for  anything  at  the  pres- 
ent time  hut  this  coiifounded  election.  Tiie  contest 
will  be  a sharp  one,  but  when  it  is  over  we  will  take 
care  of  you.” 

“Yes,  but  it  will  then  be  too  late,”  replied 
Bryan;  “I  will  be  then  a ruined  man.” 

“ But,  rny  dear  Bryan,  will  you  put  no  confidence  in 
your  Iriends?  1 tell  you  you  will  not  be  ruined. 
If  they  follow  up  the  matter  so  as  to  injure  you, 
we  shall  have  the  whole  affair  overhauled,  and  jus- 
tice done  you  ; otherwise  we  shall  bring  it  before 
Parliament.” 

“ That  may  be  all  very  well,”  replied  Bryan,  “ but 
it  is  rather  odd  that  he  has  not  taken  a single  step 
in  it  yet.” 

“The  memorial  is  before  the  Board,”  said  the 
other,  “for  some  time,  and  we  exj)ect  an  answer 
every  day.” 

“ But  I know  to  the  contrary,”  replied  Bryan, 
“ for  here  is  a letther  from  the  Secretary  stating  that 
no  such  memorial  ever  came  before  them.” 

“Never  mind  that,”  replied  Feihertonge,  “Ae 
may  not  have  seen  it.  The  Secretary  ! Lord  bless 
you,  he  never  reads  a tenth  of  the  memorials  that 
go  in.  Show  me  the  letter.  See  there  now — he  did 
not  write  it  at  all  ; don’t  you  see  his  signature  is  in 
a different  hand?  Why  will  you  not  put  confidence 
in  your  friends,  Bryan  ?” 

“Because,”  replied  the  independent  and  honest 
young  fellow,  “I  don’t  think  theyVe  entitled  to 
it  from  me.  They  liave  neglected  my  business  very 
shamefully,  afther  having  led  me  to  think  otherwise. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  or  AHADARRA.' 


337 


I have  no  notion  of  any  landlord  suffering  his  tenant 
to  be  ruined  before  his  face  without  lifting  a finger 
to  prevent  it.” 

“Oh  ! fie,  Bryan,  you  are  now  losing  your  tem- 
per. I sh  ill  say  no  more  to  you.  Still  I can  make 
allowances.  However  go  home,  and  keep  your 
mind  easy,  we  shall  take  care  of  you,  notwith- 
standing your  ill  humor.  Stay — you  pass  Mr. 
Clinton’s — will  you  be  good  enough  to  call  and  tell 
Harry  Clinton  I wish  to  speak  to  him,  and  I will  feel 
obliged  ?” 

“ Certainly,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  “ with  pleasure. 
I wish  you  good  morning.” 

“ Could  it  be  possible,”  he  added,  “that  the  hint 
Hycy  Burke  threw  out  about  young  Clinton  has 
any  truth  in  it — ‘ Harry  Clinton  will  do  you  an  in- 
jjiry but  more  he  would  not  say.  I will  now  watch 
him  well,  for  I certainly  cannot  drame  why  he  should 
be  my  enemy.” 

He  met  Clinton  on  the  way,  however,  to  whom  he 
delivered  the  message. 

“ I am  much  obliged  to  you,”  said  he,  “ I was  al- 
ready aware  of  it ; but  now  that  I have  met  you, 
M’Malion,  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  have  not  entrust- 
ed a memorial  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Chevydale,  in  order 
that  it  might  be  sent  up  strongly  supported  by  him 
to  the  Board  of  Excise  ?” 

“ I have,”  said  Bryan,  “and  it  has  been  sent,  if  I 
am  to  believe  Mr.  Fethertonge.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  my  honest  friend — don’t  believe 
Fethertonge,  nor  don’t  rely  on  Chevydale,  who  will 
do  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  agent  allows 
16 


358  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

him.  If  you  depend  upon  either  or  both,  you  are  a 
ruined  man,  and  I am  very  much  afraid  you  are 
that  already.  It  has  not  been  sent ; but  observe 
that  I mention  this  in  confidence,  and  with  an  un- 
derstanding that,  for  the  present,  you  will  not  name 
me  in  the  matter.” 

“I  sartinly  will  not,”  replied  Bryan,  who  was  for- 
cibly struck  with  the  truth  and  warmth  of  interest 
that  were  evident  in  his  language  and  manner ; 
“ and  here  is  a letter  that  I received  this  very  morn- 
in’  from  the  Secretary  of  Excise,  stating  that  no 
memorial  on  my  behalf  has  been  sent  up  to  them 
at  all.” 

“Ay,  just  so;  that  is  the  true  state  of  the  mat- 
ter.” 

“What,  in  God’s  name,  am  I to  do,  then  ?”  asked 
Bryan,  in  a state  of  great  and  evident  perplexity. 

“ I shall  tell  you  ; go  to  an  honest  man — I don’t 
say,  observe,  that  Chevydale  is  not  honest ; but  he 
is  weak  and  negligent,  and  altogether  the  slave  and 
dupe  of  his  agent.  Go  to-morrow  morning  early, 
about  eight  o’clock,  fetch  another  memorial,  and 
wait  upon  Major  Vanston  ; state  your  case  to  him 
plainly  and  simply,  and,  my  life  for  yours,  he  will 
not  neglect  you,  at  all  events.  Get  a fresh  memo- 
rial drawn  up  this  very  day.” 

“I  can  easily  do  that,”  said  Bryan,  “ for  I have  a 
rough  copy  of  the  one  I sent ; it  was  Hycy  Burke 
drew  it  up.” 

“ Hycy  Burke,”  repeated  Clinton,  starting  with 
surprise,  “do  you  tell  me  so  ?” 

“Sartinly,”  replied  the  other,  “ why  do  you  ask?” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


339 


Clinton  sliook  his  liead  carelessly.  ‘‘Well,”  he 
said,  “I  am  glad  of  it;  it  is  better  late  than  never, 
ll  v cy  Biuke” — lie  paused  and  lot>ked  serious  a mo- 
ment,—“ yes,”  he  added,  “I  am  glad  of  it.  Go 
now  ar>d  hdlow  my  advice,  and  you  will  have  at 
least  a chance  of  succeeding,  arnl  perhaps  of  defeat- 
ing your  enemies,  that  is,  if  you  have  aijy.” 

The  pressure  of  time  rendered  energy  and  activity 
necessary  in  the  case  of  Bryan;  and  accordingly, 
about  eight  o’clock  lu  xt  morning,  l.e  was  seeking 
permission  to  speak  to  the  man  against  whom  he 
and  his  family  had  always  conscientiously  voted — 
because  he  iiad  been  opposed  to  the  spiiit  and  prim 
cij)les  of  their  religion. 

JNlajor  Vanston  heard  his  case  with  patience,  in- 
quired more  minutely  into  the  circumstances,  asked 
wliere  Ahadarra  was,  the  name  of  his  landlord,  and 
such  other  circumstances  as  were  calculated  to  make 
the  case  clear. 

“ Pray,  who  drew  up  this  memorial?”  he  asked. 

“ Mr.  Ilycy  Burke,  sir,”  replied  J^ryan. 

“ Ah,  indeed,”  sai  l he,  glancing  with  a singular 
meaning  at  M’ Mahon. 

“You  and  Burke  are  intimate  then?” 

“Why,  we  are,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  “on  very  good 
terms.” 

“And  now  Mr.  Burke  has  obliged  you,  I suppose, 
because  you  have  obliged  him  ?” 

“Well,  I don’t  know  that  he  has  obliged  me 
much,”  said  Bryan,  “but  I know  that  I have  obliged 
him  a good  deal.” 

Vanston  nodded  and  seemed  satisfied.  “Very 


840 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AH  AD  ARE  A. 


well,”  he  proceeded,  ‘‘but,  with  respect  to  this  me- 
morial, I can’t  promise  you  much.  Leave  it  with 
me,  however,  and  you  shall  probably  hear  from  me 
again.  I fear  we  are  late  in  point  of  lime;  indeed 
I have  but  faint  ho[)es  of  it  altogether,  and  I would 
not  recommend  you  to  form  any  strong  expectations 
from  the  interference  of  any  one;  still,  at  the  same 
time,”  he  added,  looking  significantly  at  him,  “ I 
don’t  desire  you  to  despair  aliogetlier.” 

“He  has  as  much  notion,”  thought  Bryan,  “of 
troubling  his  head  about  me  or  my  memorial,  as  I 

have  for  standin’  candidate  for  the  county.  D n 

them  all!  they  think  of  nobody  but  themselves  1” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


341 


CHAPTER  XVIir. 

A FAMILY  DIALOGUE— AHADARRA  NOT  IN  FOR  IT — 

bryan’s  vote. 

Honest  Jemmy  Burke,  we  have  already  said, 
had  brought  home  liis  second  son,  Edward,  from 
school,  lor  the  purpose  of  training  him  to  agricultu- 
ral pursuits,  having  now  abandoned  all  nolions  of 
devoting  him  to  tlie  Church,  as  he  wouhl  have  done 
had  Hycy  manifested  towards  him  even  the  ordi- 
nary proofs  of  affection  and  respect. 

‘‘  You  druv  me  to  it,  Rosha,”  said  he  to  his  wife  ; 
“but  ril  let  you  both  know  that  Pm  able  to  be 
masther  in  my  own  house  still.  You  have  made 
your  pet  what  he  is ; but  I tell  you  tiiat  if  God 
liasn’t  said  it,  you’ll  curse  one  another  with  biiiher 
hearts  yet.” 

“Well,  sure  you  have  your  own  way,”  replied 
his  wife,  “ but  you  wor  ever  and  always  self-willed 
and  lieadstrong.  However  it’s  all  the  mane  blood 
that’s  in  you  ; it  breaks  your  heart  to  see  your  son 
a gintleman  ; but  in  spite  of  your  strong  brogues 
and  felt  caubeen,a  gentleman  he  is,  and  a gentleman 
he  will  be  an’  that's  all  I have  to  say  about  it. 
You'll  tache  your  pet  to  hate  his  brother.  I'll  go 
bail.” 

“No,  indeed,  Rosha,”  he  replied,  “ I know  my 
duty  to  God  and  my  childre’  betther  than  to  turn 
them  against  one  another ; but  it’s  only  a proof  of 


m 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAETARR'A; 


how  little  you  know  about  Edward  and  his  warm 
and  lovin’  heart,  when  you  spake  as  you  do.” 

This  indeed  was  true.  Edward  Burke  was  but  a 
short  lime  at  home  when  he  saw  clearly  how  mat- 
ters stood  in  the  family,  lie  was  in  fact  a youth 
of  a inost  afFrctionate  and  generous  disposition,  and 
instead  of  attempting  to  make  the  breach  wider,  as 
Hyey  had  he  been  in  his  place  would  have  done,  he 
did  everything  in  his  power  to  put  tlie  parties  into 
a good  state  of  feeling  w ith  each  other,  and  to  pre- 
serve peace  and  harmony  in  the  family. 

One  morning,  a ft^w  days  after  llycy’s  rejection 
by  Miss  Clinton,  they  were  all  at  breakfast,  “ the 
accomplished”  being  in  one  of  his  musical  and  polite 
moods,  his  father  bland  but  sarcastic,  and  Edward 
in  a state  of  actual  pain  on  witnessing  the  wilful 
disrespect  or  rather  contempt  that  was  implied  by 
Ilycy  tow^ards  his  parents. 

“ Well,  Ned,”  said  his  father,  “didn’t  we  spend 
a pleasant  evenin’  in  Gerald  Cavanagh’s last  night?- 
Isn’t  Kathleen  a darlin’.” 

“She  is  a delightful  girl,”  replied  Edward,  “it 
can’t  be  denied;  indeed,  I doii’i  think  I ever  saw  so 
b(‘autiful  a girl,  and  as  for  her  figure,  it  is  perfect- 
perfect.” 

“Ay,”  said  the  father,  “and  it’s  she  that  know^s 
the  difference  between  a decent  sensible  boy  and  a 
— ginlleman — a highflyer.  She  was  both  kind  and 
civil  to  yo7/,  Ned.” 

“ I don’t  know  as  to  the  kindness,”  replied  Ed- 
ward; “but  she  was  certainly  civil  and  agreeable. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


43 


and  I don’t  think  it’s  in  her  nature  to  be  anything 
else.” 

“Except  when  she  ought,”  said  his  father;  “but 
listen,  Ned — dress  yourself  up,  get  a buff  w^aistcoat, 
a green  jockey  coat,  a riding  whip,  and  a pair  o’ 
shillin’  top  boots,  titivate  yourself  up  like  a dandy, 
then  go  to  her  wid  lavendher  water  on  your  pocket- 
handkerchy,  an’  you’ll  see  how  she’ll  settle  you. 
Be  my  sowl,  you’ll  be  the  happy  boy  when  you  get 
her  ; don’t  you  think  so,  Misther  Ilycy  ? ” 

“Unquestionably,  Mr.  Burke,  when  you  speak 
you  shame  an  Oracle  ; as  for  Master  Ned — why— 

I’m  owre  young,  Tm  owre  young, 

Pm  owre  young  to  marry  yet, 

I’m  owre  young,  ’t would  be  a sin 
To  take  me  from  my  Diddy  yet.’ 

I think,  Master  Edward,  the  Boy-god  has  already 
taken  occupation  ; tlie  vitiiline  aftection  for  the  fair 
Katsey  has  set  in;  heigho,  what  a delightful  period 
of  life  is  that  soft  ami  licktul  one  of  call'  love,  when 
the  tongue  rolls  about  the  dripping  lips,  the  wdiites 
of  the  eyes  are  turned  towards  the  divine,  the  ox- 
eyed  Kaisey,  and  you  are  ready  to  stagger  over  and 
blare  out  the  otherwise  unutteral>le  afh'Ciion.” 

“Very  wudl  described,  Ilycy,  I see  you  have  not 
forgotten  your  Homer  yet;  but  really  Kathleen 
Cavanagh  is  a perfect  Juno,  and  has  the  large,  liquid, 
soft  ox-eye  in  perfection.” 

“ Let  me  look  at  yon,”  said  Ilycy,  turning  round 
and  staring  at  him  with  a good  deel  of  surprise; 
“ begad,  brotluT  Ned,  let  me  ask  where  you  got 
your  connoisseurship  upon  women?  eh?  Oh,  in  the 


844 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


dictionary,  I suppose,  where  the  common  people 
say  everything  is  to  be  found.  Observe  m<*,  Mr. 
Burke,  you  are  taking  your  worthy  son  out  of  liis 
proper  vocation,  the  Ohurcii.  Send  him  lo  ‘May- 
newth,’  he  is  too  good  a connoisseur  on  beauty  to  be 
out  of  the  Tribunal.” 

“ Ilycy,”  replied  his  brother,  “ these  are  senti- 
ments that  do  you  no  credit;  it  is  ea^y  to  sneer  at 
religion  or  those  who  administer  it, — much  easier 
than  to  praise  the  one,  it  would  appear,  or  imitate 
the  virtues  of  the  other.” 

“Beautiful  rebuke,”  said  Hycy,  again  staring  at 
him  ; “ why,  Masther  Edward,  you  are  a prodigy 
of  wonderful  sense  and  unspotted  virtue ; love  has 
made  you  eloquent — 

“ ‘ I gaed  a waefa’  gate  yestreen, 

A gate,  I fear,  I’ll  dearly  rue, 

I gat  rny  death  frae  twa  sweet  e’en, 

Twa  lovely  e’en  o’  bonnie  blue,  &c.,  &c.’ 

“ I am  not  not  in  love  yet,  Hycy,  but  as  my  father 
wishes  to  bring  about  a marriage  between  Kath- 
leen and  myself,  you  know,”  he  added,  smiling,  “it 
will  be  my  duty  to  fall  in  love  with  her  as  fast  as 
I can.” 

“Dutiful  youth  ! what  a treasure  you  will  prove 
to  a dignified  and  gentlemanly  parent, — to  a fond 
and  doting  wdfe  ! Shall  I however  put  forth  my 
powers?  Shall  Hycy  the  accomplished  interpose 
between  Juno  and  the  calf?  What  sayst  thou,  my 
most  amiable  maternal  relative,  and  why  siltest  thou 
80  silent  and  so  sad  ? ” 

“Indeed,  it’s  no  wondher  I would,  Hycy,”  replied 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA!  345 

his  motlier,  wliom  Edward’s  return  had  cast  into 
complete  de  jection,  “ when  I see  your  father  striviii’ 
to  put  between  Ids  own  childre’.” 

“Mt‘,  llosha!”  exclaimed  her  husband;  “God 
forgive  you  for  that!  but  when  I see  that  one  of  rny 
childre’  won’t  spake  a word  to  me  with  respect  or 
civility — no,  not  even  in  his  natural  voice,  it  is 
surely  time  for  me  to  try  if  I can’t  find  affection  in 
his  brother.” 

“ Ay,”  said  she,  “ that’s  your  own  way  of  it ; but 
it’s  easy  seen  tliat  you’re  eggin’  up  Ned  agin  his 
brother,  bringiii’  ill  will  and  bad  feelin’  among  a 
family  that  was  quiet  before  ; ay,  an’  I suppose  you’d 
be  glad  to  see  my  heart  broke  too,  and  indeed  I 
didn’t  care  it  was,”  and  as  she  spoke  the 'words  were 
accompanied  by  sobbings  and  tears. 

“Alas!”  said  Hycy,  still  in  the  mock  heroic — - 
“ where  is  the  pride  and  dignity  of  woman?  Re- 
member, oh  maternal  relative,  that  you  are  the  mother 
of  one  Gracchus  at  least!  Scorn  the  hydraulics,  I 
say;  abandon  the  pathetic;  cast  sorrow  to  the 
winds,  and— give  me  another  cup  of  tea.” 

Edward  shook  his  head  at  him,  as  if  remonstrating 
against  this  most  undutiful  and  contemptuous  style 
of  conversation  to  his  mother.  “ Don’t  give  way  to 
tears,  my  dear  mother,”  he  said;  “indeed  you  do 
my  father  injustice  ; he  has  neither  said  nor  done  any- 
thing to  turn  me  against  Ilycy.  Wliy  should  he  ? 
So  far  from  that,  I know  that  he  loves  Ilycy  at 
heart,  all  that  he  wishes  is  that  Hycy  would  s[)eak 
to  him  in  his  natural  voice,  and  treat  him  with  re- 
spect, and  the  feeling  that  surely  is  due  to  him. 


340 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA» 


And  SO  Hycy  will,  father;  lam  sure  he  respects 
and  loves  you  in  spite  of  this  levity  and  afftctaiion. 
All  we  want  is  for  each  to  give  up  a little  of  his 
own  way — when  you  become  more  respectful,  Hycy, 
my  father’s  manner  will  change  too:  let  us  be  at 
least  sincere  and  natural  with  each  other,  and  JLhere 
is  nothing  that  I can  see  to  prevent  us  from  living 
very  happily,” 

“I  have  some  money  saved,”  said  Burke,  turning 
to  his  wife — ‘‘a  good  penny — -too,  raore^ than  the 
world  thinks;  and  I declare  to  my  God  I would 
give  it  twice  over  if  I could  hear  that  young  man,” 
pointing  to  Hycy,  “speak  these  words  with  the  same 
heart  and  feelings  of  him  that  spoke  them;  but  I 
fear  that  ’ud  be  a hopeless  wish  on  my  part,  an’ 
ever  will.” 

“No,  father,”  said  Edward,  “ it  will  not.  Hycy 
and  you  will  soon  understand  one  another.  Hycy 
will  see  what  his  duty  towmrds  you  is,  and, 
sooner  than  be  the  means  of  grieving  your  heart,  he 
will  change  the  foolish  and  thoughtless  habit  that 
offends  you.” 

“ Well,  Edward  may  God  grant  it,”  exclaimed  his 
father,  rising  up  from  breakfast,  “ and  that’s  all  I 
have  to  say — God  grant  it ! ” 

“Why,  Sir  Oracle,  junior,”  said  Hycy,  after  his 
father  had  gone  out,  “or  rather  Solomon  Secundus, 
if  j'ou  are  now  an  unfledged  philosopher  on  our 
hands,  w’hat  will  you  not  be  when  your  pinions  are 
growni  ?” 

“]\Iy  dear  brother,”  replied  Edward,  “I  cannot 
see  what  on  earth  you  can  propose  to  yourself  by 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


347 


adopting  this  ridiculous  style  of  conversation — I 
cannot  really  see  any  object  you  can  have  in  it.  If 
it  be  to  vex  or  annoy  iny  lather,  can  you  blame  him 
if  he  feels  both  vexed  and  annoyed  at  it. 

‘‘Most  sapienlly  said,  Solomon  Secundus — 

“ ‘ Solomon  Lob  was  a ploughman  stout, 

And  a ranting  oavalicr ; 

And»  when  the  civil  war  broke  out, 

It  quickly  did  appear 
That  Solomon  Lob  was  six  feet  high, 

And  lit  for  a grenadier. 

So  Solomon  Lob  march’d  boldly  forth 
To  sounds  of  bu  j le  horns  • 

And  a weary  march  had  Solomon  Lob, 

For  Solomon  Lob  had  corns. 

Row,— ra— ra— -row — de— dow.’ 

And  so  I wish  you  a good  morning,  most  sapient 
Solomon.  I go  on  business  of  importance  affecting— 
the  welfare  of  tlie  nation,  or  rather  of  the  empire 
at  large— -embracing  all  these  regions,  antipodial  and 
otherwise,  on  which  the  sun  never  sets.  Good 
morning,  therefore ; and,  maternal  relative,  wishing 
the  same  to  thee,  with  a less  copious  exhibition  of 
the  hydraulics,  a-hem  ! ” 

“Where  is  he  going,  mother,  do  you  know  !?^ 
asked  Edward. 

“ Indeed  I don’t  know,  Edward,”  she  replied  ; “ he 
seldom  or  never  tells  us  anything  about  his  motions; 
but  it  vexes  me  to  tliink  that  his  fatiier  vron’t  make 
any  allowance  for  his  lightheartedness  and  fine 
spirits.  Sure  now,  E iward,  you  know  yourself  it’s 
not  raisonable  to  have  a young  man  like  him  mum- 
pin’ and  mopin’  about,  as  if  there  was  awake  in  the 
house?” 


348 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


The  only  reply  Edward  made  to  this  weak  and 
foolish  speech  was,  “Yes;  but  there  is  reason  in  every- 
thing, my  dear  mother.  I have  heard,”  he  ad<led, 
“that  he  is  working  for  the  Tory  candidate,  Vaa- 
ston,  an  ! hope  it  is  not  true.” 

“Why,”  said  his  mother,  “what  differ  does  it 
make  ? ” 

“ Why,”  replied  the  other,  “that  Vanston  votes 
to  keep  us  slaves,  and  Chevydale  to  give  us  our 
political  freedom:  the  one  is  opposed  to  our  religion 
and  our  liberty,  and  the  other  votes  for  both.” 

“Troth,  as  to  religion,”  observed  the  mother, 
“ the  poor  boy  doesn’t  trouble  his  head  much 
about  it ; but  it’s  not  aisy  for  one  that  goes  into 
jihteel  society  to  do  so — an’ that’s  what  makes  Ilycy 
ait  mate  of  a Friday  as  fast  as  on  any  other  day.” 

“lam  sorry  to  hear  that,  mother,”  replied  Ed- 
ward ; “but  Hycy  is  a very  young  man  still,  and 
will  mend  all  these  matters  yet.” 

“And  that’s  what  I’m  tellin’  his  father,”  she  re- 
plied; “and  if  you’d  only  see  the  way  he  looks  at 
me,  and  puts  a upon  him  so  bitthcr  that  it 

would  a’most  take  the  skin  off  one.” 

Edward’s  observations  with  respect  to  TTycy’s 
having  taken  a part  in  forwarding  the  interests  of 
Major  Vanston  were  not  without  foundation.  He 
and  Bryan  M’Mahon  had  of  late  been  upon  very  good 
terms ; and  it  so  happened  that  in  the  course  of  one 
of  their  conversations  about  Kathleen  Cavanagh, 
Bryan  had  mentioned  to  him  the  fact  of  Kathleen’s 
having  heard  that  he  was  pledged  to  vote  with 
* Cuify  a ^rin— mostly  of  contempt. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


349 


Vanston,  and  repeated  the  determination  to  which 
she  had  resolved  to  come  if  lie  should  do  so,  Now, 
it  so  happened,  that  a portion  of  this  was  already 
well  known  to  Ilycy  himself,  who,  in  fact,  was  the 
very  individual  who  had  assured  Major  Vanston, 
and  those  who  canvassed  for  him,  that  he  himself 
had  secured  Bryan.  On  hearing  now  from  Bryan 
that  Kathleen  had  put  the  issue  of  their  affection 
upon  his  political  truth  and  consistency  he  resolved 
to  avail  himself  of  that  circumstance  if  he  could. 
On  hearing  besides,  however,  that  Harry  Clinton 
had  actually  sent  him  (M’Mahon)  to  Vanston,  and  on 
being  told,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  that 
gentleman  asked  wlio  had  drawn  up  the  memorial, 
he  felt  that  every  cii  cumstance  was  turning  in  his  fa- 
vor; for  he  determined  now  to  sadille  Clinton  with 
the  odium  which,  in  this  treacherous  transaction, 
was  most  likely  to  fall  upon  himself. 

It  is  not  our  intention  here  to  describe  the  brutal 
and  disgraceful  scenes  that  occur  at  an  election.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that,  after  a long,  bitter,  and  tedious 
struggle,  the  last  day  of  it  arrived.  Bryan  M’Mahon, 
having  fully  satisfied  himself  that  his  landlord  had 
not  taken  a single  step  to  promote  his  interests  in 
the  matter  of  the  aiemorial,  resolved  from  the  begin- 
ning not  to  vote  in  his  favor,  and,  of  course,  not  to 
vote  all. 

On  the  morning  of  the  last  day,  wdth  the  excep- 
tion of  himself  alone,  a single  voter  had  not  been  left 
unpolled;  and  the  position  of  the  two  candidates 
was  very  peculiar,  both  having  polled  exactly  the 
same  number  of  votes,  and  both  being  consequently 


850 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA; 


equal.  Bryan,  having  left  home  early,  was  at  break- 
fast about  eleven  o’clock,  in  a little  recess  off  the  bar 
of  tlie  liead  inn,  which  was  divi  ded  from  one  end  of 
the  cofFee-room  by  a thin  partition  of  boards,  thri)iigh 
which  anything  spoken  in  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice 
in  that  portion  of  the  room  could  be  distinctly  heard. 
Our  readers  may  judge  of  his  surprise  on  hearing 
the  following  short  but  pithy  dialogue  of  which  he 
himself  formed  the  subject  matter.  Tiie  speakers, 
with  whom  were  assembled  several  of  his  landlord's 
committee,  being  no  other  than  that  worthy  gentle- 
man and  his  agent. 

“Wliat’s  to  be  done?”  asked  Chevydale ; ‘‘here 
is  what  we  call  a dead  heat.  Can  no  one  prevail  on 
that  obstinate  scoundrel,  the  Ahadarra  man — \vhat 
do  ye  call  him  ? M'M  ister— M’Manus--M’ — eh  ?” 

“M’Mahon,”  replied  Fethertonge,  “I  fear  not; 
but,  at  all  events,  we  must  try  him  again.  Vote  or 
not,  however,  we  shall  soon  clear  him  out  of  Aha- 
darra— we  shall  putiish  his  insolence  for  daring  to 
withhold  his  vote  ; for,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Fetimiv 
tonge,  out  he  goes.  The  fine  and  distillation  affiir^ 
however,  will  save  us  a good  deal  of  trouble,  and  of 
course  I am  very  glad  you  declined  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  support  of  his  petition.  The  fellow 
is  nothing  else  than  shuffler,  as  I told  you.  Vote  or 
not,  therefore,  out  of  Ahadarra  lie  goes;  and,  when 
he  does,  I liave  agood  tenant  lo  put  in  his  place.” 

JM’M.ihon's  blood  boiled  on  hearing  this  language, 
and  he  inwardly  swore  that,  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  miglit,  a vote  of  his  should  never  go  to 
the  support  of  such  a man.  ^ ^ 


THE  EmGRA-l^TS  OP  AHADARRA. 


351 


Again  we  return  to  Hycy  Burke,  who,  when  tlie 
day  (»f  llie  great  struggle  arrived,  ro  le  after  break- 
fast on  that  same  morning  into  Bali ymiu'an,  and 
inquired  at  the  post-office  if  there  were  any  letters 
lur  him. 

“No,”  replied  the  postmaster;  “ but,  if  you  see 
Bryan  M'M  ili on,  tell  him  I have  here  one  for  liim, 
from  Major  Vanston — it’s  his  frank  and  his  hand- 
wriiinc:.” 

O 

“I’m  going  directly  to  him,”  said  Ilycy, “and 
will  bring  it  to  him;  so  you  had  better  band  it 
here.” 

Tiie  postmaster  gave  him  the  letter,  and  in  a few 
minutes  Ilycy  was  on  his  way  home  with  as  much 
8})eed  as  his  horse  was  capable  of  making. 

“Nanny,”  saivl  he  calling  upon  Nanny  Peety, 
when  he  had  put  his  horse  in  the  stable  and  entered 
the  parlor,  “ will  you  fetch  me  a candle  and  some 
w^arrn  water  ? ” 

“Yes,  sir,”  said  Nanny;  “but  you  must  wait  till 
I boil  Some,  for  there’s  none  hot.” 

“ Be  quick,  then,”  said  he,  “ for  Pm  in  a devil  of 
a hurry.  Shut  the  door  after  you,  I say.  What  is 
the  reason  that  you  never  do  so,  often  as  I have 
spoken  to  you  about  it?  ” 

“ Becaise  it’s  never  done,”  she  replied;  “nobody 
ever  bids  me  shut  it  but  yourself,  an’  that’s  what 
makes  me  forget  it.” 

“ Well,  I’ll  thank  you,”  he  said,  “ to  pay  more  at- 
tention to  what  I say  to  you.  I have  reason  to 
think  you  both  intrusive  and  ungrateful,  Nanny  ; 
and,  mark,  unless  you  show  me  somewhat  more  sab^ 


852 


THE  EMIGRANTS  Ot  AHADARRA. 


mission,  madam,  you  shall  pitch  your  camp  else- 
where. It  was  I brought  you  here.” 

Ax  your  own  conscience  why,  Mr.  Hycy.” 

‘‘  Begone  now  and  get  me  the  liot  water,”  he  said, 
witli  a Irown  of  anger  and  vexation,  heightened  pro- 
bably by  the  state  of  agitation  into  which  the  pos- 
session of  Vanston’s  letter  had  already  put  him. 

We  shall  not  lollow  him  through  all  the  ingenious 

o o 

and  dishonorable  manoeuvres  by  which  he  got  the 
communication  safely  opened;  it  is  enough  to  say 
that,  in  the  course  of  a few  minutes,  he  was  enabled 
to  peruse  the  contents  of  Vanston’s  communication, 
which  were  as  follows: — 

“ Sir, — I beg  to  enclose  you  a letter  which  I re- 
ceiv  ed  yesterday  from  the  Secretary  to  the  Board  of 
Excise,  and  to  assure  you  that  I feel  much  pleasure 
in  congratulating  you  upon  its  contents,  and  the 
satisfactory  result  of  your  memorial. 

‘‘  I am,  sir,  very  sincerely  yours, 

‘‘  Robert  Vanston. 

‘‘  To  Mr.  Bryan  M’Mahon, 

Ahadarra.” 

(The  enclosed.) 

“ Sir, — I have  had  the  honor  of  reading  yourcom- 
municalion  in  favor  of  Bryan  M’Mahon,  of  Ahadarra, 
and  of  submitting  that  and  his  own  memorial  to 
the  Commissioners  of  Excise,  who,  after  maturely 
weighing  the  circumstances,  and  taking  into  consid- 
eration the  excellent  cliaracter  which  memorialist 
has  received  at  your  hands,  have  been  pleased  to  re- 
duce the  fine  originally  imposed  upon  him  to  the 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


353 


sum  of  fifty  pounds.  The  Commissioners  are  satis- 
fied that  memorialist,  liaving  been  in  no  way  con- 
nected willi  the  illicit  distillation  which  was  Carrie*! 
on  upon  his  property,  is  not  morally  liable  to  pay 
the  j)enalty  ; but,  as  they  have  not  the  power  ol 
wholly  remitting  it  they  have  reduced  it  as  far  as 
the  law  has  given  them  authority. 

“ I have  the  honor  to  be,  sir,  your  faithful  and 
obedient  servant, 

‘‘  Francis  Fathom. 

‘‘  To  Major  Vanston,  &c.,  &c.” 

Ilycy,  having  persued  these  documents,  resealed 
them  in  such  a manner  as  to  evade  all  suspicion  of 
their  having  been  opend. 

“ ]^ow,”  thought  he,  ‘‘  what  is  to  be  done  ? Upon 
the  strength  of  this,  it  is  possible  I may  succeed  in 
working  up  M'Mahon  to  vote  for  Vanston  ; for  I 
know  into  what  an  enthusiasm  of  gratitude  the  gene- 
rous fool  will  be  thrown  by  them.  If  lie  votes  for 
Vanston,  I gain  several  points.  First  and  foremost, 
tlie  round  sum  of  three  liundred.  If  I can  get  his 
vote,  I establish  my  own  veracity  which,  as  matters 
stand,  will  secure  Vanston  the  election;  I,  also,  hav 
ing  already  secretly  assured  the  Tory  gentleman 
that  I could  secure  him,  or  rather,  I can  turn  my  lie 
into  truth,  and  m ake  Vanston  ray  friend.  Secondly, 
knowing  as  I do,  that  it  was  by  Harry  Clinton’s 
advice  the  clod-hopper  went  to  him,  I can  shift  the 
odium  of  his  voting  for  Vanston  upon  that  youth's 
shoulders,  whose  body,  by  the  way,  does  not  contain 
a single  bone  that  1 like ; and,  thirdly,  having  by  his 


354 


THE  EIVHGRANTS  OF.  AHADAKRA. 


apostacy  and  treachery,  as  it  will  be  called,  placed 
an  insurmountable  barrier  between  himself  and  the 
divine  Katsey,  I will  change  rny  course  with  Jemmy, 
the  gentleman — my  sarcastic  dad— return  and  get 
reconciled  with  that  whelp  of  a brother  ot‘  mine,  and 
by  becoming  a good  Chrisiain  and  a better  Catholic, 
1 have  no  doubt  but  I shall  secure  the  ‘ Ox-eyed,’  as 
I very  hapjdly  named  her  the  other  morning.  This 
I think,  will  be  making  the  most  of  the  cards,  and, 
as  the  moment  is  critical,  I shall  seek  the  clod-hopper 
and  place  this  seasonable  communication  in  his 
liands.” 

He  accordingly  rode  rapidly  into  town  again, 
wliere  he  had  not  been  many  minutes,  when  he  met 
M’Mahon  burning  witii  indignation  at  the  language 
of  his  landlord  and  tlie  agent.  * 

I cannot  have  patience,  Ilycy,”  he  exclaimed, 
under  such  scoundrelly  language  as  this;  and 
while  I have  breath  in  my  body,  he  never  shall  have 
inyvote!’ 

“ What’s  the  matter,  Bryan?”  he  asked;  “ you 
seem  flnsiied.” 

“[  do,  Ilycy, ' because  I am  flushed,  and  not 
wdtliout  reason.  I tell  you  that  my  landlord, 
Che v yd  il^*,  is  a scoundrel,  and  Fethertonge  a deceit- 
ful villain.” 

“Pooh,  man,  is  that  by  way  of  information?  I 
thought  you  liad  something  in  tlie  shape  of  novelty 
to  tell  me.  What  has  happened,  however,  and  why 
are  you  in  such  a white  heat  of  indignation?” 

M’Mahon  immediately  detailed  the  conversation 
which  he  had  overheard  behind  the  bar  of  the  inn, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRAr 


355 


and  we  need  scarcely  assure  our  readers  that  Hycy 
did  not  omit  that  opportunity  of  llirowing  oil  upon 
the  fire  which  blazed  so  strongly. 

“Bryan,”  said  he,  “I  know  the  agent  to  be  a 
scoundrel,  and  what  is  nearer  tlie  case  still,  I have 
every  reason — but  you  must  not  ask  me  to  state 
them  yet, — I have  every  reason  to  suspect  that  it  is 
Fethertonge,  countenanced  by  Chevydale,  who  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  distillation  affair  that  has  ruined 
you.*  The  fact  is  they  are  anxious  to  get  you  out  of 
Ahadarra,  and  thought  that  by  secretly  ruining  you, 
they  could  most  plausibly  effect  it.” 

“I  have  now  no  earthly  doubt  of  it,  Ilycy,”  re- 
plied the  other. 

“ You  need  not,”  replied  TTycy  ; “ and  maybe  I’m 
not  far  astray  when  I say,  that  the  hook-nosed  old 
Still-hound,  Clinton,  is  not  a thousand  miles  from 
the  plot.  I could  name  others  connected  with  some 
of  tlnmi— but  I won’t, 

When  M’Mahon  recollected  the  conversation 
which  both  Clinton  and  the  agent  had  held  with 
him,  with  respect  to  violating  the  law,  the  truth 
of  Ilycy’s  remark  flashed  upon  him  at  once,  and 
of  course  deepened  his  indignation  almost  beyond 
endurance. 

“Tiiey  are  two  d d scoundrels,”  pursued 

II  ycy,  “and  I have  reasons,  besides,  for  suspecting 
that  it  was  their  wush,  if  they  could  have  done  it 
successfully,  to  have  directed  your  suspicions  against 
my  sell.” 

M’Mahon  was  in  fact  already  convinced  of  this, 
and  felt  satisfied  that  he  saw  through  and  under- 


356 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRAT 


Stood  the  whole  design  against  him,  and  was 
perfectly  aware  of  those  who  had  brought  him  to 
ruin. 

“ By  the  way,”  said  Hycy,  “ let  me  not  forget 
that  I have  been  looking  for  you  tliis  hour  or  two  ; 
here  is  a letter  I got  for  you  in  the  post-office  lliis 
morning.  It  has  Vanstoii’s  frank,  and  I think  is  in 
his  hand-writing.” 

M'Maiion’s  face,  on  perusing  the  letter,  beamed 
with  animation  and  delight,  “ Here,  Hycy,”  ^said 
he,  ‘'read  that ; I’m  safe  yet,  thank  God,  and  not  a 
ruined  man,  as  the  villians  tiiought  to  make  me.” 

“By  my  soul  and  honor,  Bryan,”  exclaimed  the 
other,  “ that  is  noble  on  the  part  of  Vanston,  especi- 
ally towards  an  individual  from  whom,  as  well  as 
from  his  whole  family,  he  has  ever  experienced  the 
strongest  opposition.  However,  if  I were  in  your 
coat,  I certainly  would  not  suffer  him  to  outdo  me 
in  generosity.  Good  heavens  ! only  contrast  such 
conduct  with  that  of  the  other  scoundrel,  his 
opponent,  and  then  see  the  conclusion  you  must 
come  too.” 

“Let  Vanston  be  what  he  may,  he’s  an  lionest 
man,”  replied  Bryan,  “and  in  less  than  ten  minutes 
I'll  have  him  the  sittin’  member.  I would  be  un- 
grateful and  ungenerous,  as  you  say,  Hycy,  not  to 
do  so.  Come  along — come  al'»ng,  I bid  you.  I 
don’t  care  what  they  say.  The  man  that  saved 
me — who  was  his  enemy — from  ruin,  will  have  my 
vote.” 

They  accordingly  proceeded  tow^ards  the  court* 
house,  and  on  their  way  Hycy  addressed  him  as  fol* 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


357 


lows: — “ Now,  Bryan,  in  order  to  give  your  conduct 
an  appearance  of  greater  generosity,  I will  pretend 
to  dissuade  you  against  voting  for  Vanston,  or, 
ratlier,  I will  endeavor,  as  it  were,  to  get  your  vole 
for  Chevydale.  Tiiis  will  make  the  act  more  manly 
and  delerrnined  or  your  part,  and  consequently  one 
much  more  high-minded  and  creditable  to  your  rep- 
utation. You  will  show  them  besides,  that  you  are 
not  tiie  cowardly  slave  of  your  landlord.” 

It  was  accordingly  so  managed  ; the  enthusiastic 
gratitmle  of  the  young  man  overcame  all  considera- 
tions; and  in  a few  minutes  M:gor  Vanston  was  de- 
clared by  the  shtriff  duly  elected,  by  a majority  of 
one  vote  only. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  intention  to  describe  the  fierce 
sensation  which  this  victory  created  among  the 
greater  portion  of  the  people.  The  tumult  occasion- 
ed by  their  indignation  and  fury  was  outrageous 
and  ruffianly  as  usual ; but  as  the  election  had  now 
terminated,  it  soon  ceased,  and  the  mobs  began  to 
disperse  to  their  respective  homes.  Bryan  for  some 
three  hours  or  so  was  under  the  protection  of  the 
military,  otherwise  he  would  have  been  literally 
torn  limb  from  limb.  In  the  mean  time  we  must 
follow  Ilycy. 

This  worthy  and  straight-forward  young  gentle- 
man, having  now  accomplislied  his  purpose,  and  been 
the  means  of  M’Mahon  having  exposed  himself  to 
popular  vengeance,  took  the  first  opportunity  of 
withdrawing  from  him  secretly,  and  seeking  Vans- 
ton’s  agent.  Having  found  him,  and  retired  out  of 
hearing,  he  simply  said — 


358 


THE*  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA; 


“ I will  trouble  you  for  three  hundred.” 

“You  shall  liave  it,”  replied  that  honest  c^entle- 
man  ; “ you  shall  liave  it.  We  fully  acknowledge 
the  value  of  your  services  in  this  matter;  it  is  to 
them  we  owe  our  return.” 

“There  is  no  doubt  in  the  matter,”  replied  Ilycy ; 
“ but  you  know  not  my  difficulty,  nor  the  dexterous 
card  I l)ad  to  play  in  accomplishing  iny  point.” 

“We  are  sensible  of  it  all,”  replied  the  other; 
“ here,”  said  he,  pulling  out  liis  pocket-book,  “ are 
three  notes  for  one  hundred  each.” 

“Give  me  two  fifties,”  said  Ilycy,  “instead 
of  this  third  note,  and  you  will  oblige  me.  By  the 
way,  here  is  the  Major.”  With  this  the  other  imme- 
diately complied,  without  the  Major  having  been 
in  any  way  cognizant  of  the  transaction. 

On  entering  the  inner  room  where  they  stood, 
Vanston  shook  hands  most  cordially  witli  Ilycy, 
and  thanked  liim  in  very  warm  language  for  the 
part  he  took,  to  which  he  had  no  hesitation  in  say- 
ing he  owed  his  return. 

“Look  upon  me  lienceforth  as  a friend,  Mr. 
Burke,”  he  added,  “and  a sincere  one,  who  will  not 
forget  the  value  of  your  influence  with  the  young 
man  wljose  vote  has  gained  me  the  election.  I liave 
already  served  him  essentially, — in  fact  saved  him' 
from  ruin,  and  I am  very  glad  of  it.” 

“ I really  feel  very  much  gratified,  Major  Van- 
ston, that  I have  had  it  in  my  power,”  replied  Hycy, 
“to  render  you  any  service  of  importance  ; and  if  I 
ever  should  stand  in’ need  of  a favor  at  your  hands, 
I shall  not  hesitate  to  ask  it.” 


359 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA» 

“ Nor  I to  grant  it,  Mr.  Burke,  if  it  be  within  the 
reach  of  my  influence.” 

“ In  t)ie  mean  titne,”  said  Ilycy,  “will  you  oblige 
me  with  a single  frank?” 

“Certainly,  Mr.  Burke;  with  half  a dozen  of 
them.” 

“Thank  you,  sir,  one  will  be  quite  sufficient;  I 
require  no  more.” 

The  Major,  however,  gave  him  half  a dozen  of 
them,  and  after  some  further  chat,  and  many  expres- 
sions of  obligation  on  the  part  of  the  new  M.P. 
Ilycy  withdrew. 


860 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  xrx. 

BRYAN  BRIBED — IS  REJECTED  BY  KATHLEEN. 

In  the  course  of  about  two  or  tliree  hours  after 
the  transaction  alreaiiy  stated,  old  Peety  Dhu  was 
proceeding  towards  the  post  olhce  with  a letter, 
partly  in  liis  closed  hand,  and  partly  up  the  inside 
of  his  sleeve,  so  as  that  it  might  escape  observation. 
The  crowds  were  still  tumultuous,  but  less  so  than 
in  the  early  part  of  the  day  ; for,  as  we  said,  they 
were  diminishing  in  numbers,  tiiose  who  had  been 
so  long  from  home  feeling  a natural  wish  to  return 
to  their  families  and  the  various  occupations  and 
duties  of  life  which  they  had  during  this  protrated 
contest  been  forced  to  neglect.  Peety  had  got  as 
far  as  the  market-house — which  was  about  the  cen- 
tre of  the  street — on  his  way,  we  say,  to  the  post- 
office,  when  he  met  his  daughter  Nanny,  who,  after 
a few  words  of  inquiry,  asked  him  where  he  was 
going. 

“ Faith,  an’  that’s  more  than  I dare  tell  you,”  he 
replied. 

Why,”  she  siid,  is  there  a saicret  in  it  ? I’m 
sure  you  needn’t  keep  it  from  me,  whatever  it  is.” 

This  she  added  in  a serious  and  offended  tone, 
which,  however  was  not  lost  on  the  old  man. 

“ Well,”  said  he,  “ considherin’  tl»e  man  he  is,  an’ 
what  you  know  about  him,  I think  I may  as  well  tell 
you.  It’s  a letther  I’m  briugiu’  to  slip  into  the  post- 
office,  uiiknownst.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


361 


‘‘  Is  it  from  Ilycy  ?”  she  asked. 

“From  llycy,  and  no  other.” 

“I’ll  hould  a wager,”  she  replied,  “that  that’s  the 
very  lettlier  I seen  him  openin’  through  tlie  key- 
hole doar  tliis  inornin’.  Do  you  know  who  it’s  to  ?” 
she  inquired. 

“Oh,  the  sorra  know;  he  said  it  was  a love-let- 
ther,  and  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  puttin’  it  in 
hims(‘lf.” 

“ Wait,”  said  she,  “ give  it  to  me  here  for  a min- 
ute; here’s  Father  M’Gowan  cornin’  up,  and  I’ll  ax 
him  who  it’s  directed  to.” 

She  accordingly  took  the  letter  out  of  his  hand, 
and  aj)proaching  the  priest,  asked  liim  the  name  of 
the  person  io  whom  it  was  addressed. 

“Flaise  your  reverence,”  she  said,  “ what  name’s 
on  the  back  of  this  ? — I mane,”  said  she,  “ who  is  it 
goiii’  to  ? ” 

The  priest  looked  at  it,  and  at  once  replied,  “ It  is 
goin’  to  Bryan  M’Mahon,  of  Ahadarra,  the  traitor, 
and  it  comes  from  Major  Vanston,  the  enemy  to  his 
liberty  and  religion,  that  Ids  infamous  vote  put  into 
Parliament,  to  rivet  our  chains,  and  continue  our 
degradation.  So  there,  girl,  you  have  now  the  bigot 
from  whom  it  comes,  and  the  apostate  to  whom  it 
goes.  Who  gave  it  to  you?  ” 

Nanny,  who  from  some  motives  of  her  own,  felt  re- 
luctant to  mention  Ilycy’s  name  in  the  matter,  hastily 
replied,  “ A person,  plaise  your  reverence,  from  Ma- 
jor Vanston.”  • 

“ Very  well,  girl,  discharge  your  duty,”  said  the 
priest ; “ but  I tell  you  the  devil  will  never  sleep 
16 


36^ 


THE  EMIGRANTS  AHADARRA. 


well  till  he  has  his  clutches  in  the  same  Major,  as 
well  as  in  the  shameless  apostate  he  has  corrupted.” 

Having  uttered  these  words,  he  passed  on,  and 
Nanny  in  a minute  or  two  afterwards  returned  the 
letter  to  her  father,  who  with  his  own  hands  put  it 
into  the  post-office. 

“Now,”  said  she  to  her  father,  “the  people  is 
scatterin’  themselves  homewards  ; and  the  streets  is 
gettin’  clear — but  listen — that  letter  is  directed  to 
Br^^an  M’Mahon  ; will  you  keep  about  the  post-office 
here  ; Bryan’s  in  town,  an’  it’s  likely  when  the  dan- 
ger’s over  that  he  may  be  passin’.  Now  you  know 
that  if  he  does,  the  people  in  the  shop  where  the 
post-office  is  kt'p’  will  see  him,  an’  maybe  he'll  get 
the  letter  to-day^,  or  I’ll  tell  you  what,  watch  Hycy ; 
take  my  word  for  it,  he  has  some  scheme  afoot.” 

“ Hycy’s  no  favorite  wid  you,  Nanny.” 

“ Why  you  know  he’s  not,  an’ indeed  I don’t  know 
why  he’s  one  ivid  you.” 

“Throthan’he  is,  many  a shillin’  an’  six  pence 
he  throws  me,— always  does  indeed  wherever  he 
meets  me.” 

“No  matter,  maybe  the  day  will  soon  come  when 
you’ll  change  your  opinion  of  him,  that’s  all  I say, 
except  to  keep  your  eye  on  him  ; an’  I’ll  tell  you  why 
1 bid  you,  some  day  soon.” 

“ Well,  achora,  maybe  I may  change  my  opinion 
of  him ; but  at  present  I say  he  is  my  favorite,  an’ 
will  be  so,  till  I know  worse  about  him.” 

Nanny,  leaving  bade  him  good-bye,  and  repeated 
her  wish  that  the  old  man  would  watch  the  post- 
office  for  some  time,  proceeded  up  the  street  in  the 


THE.  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAHARRA. 


863 


direction  of  tbo  grocer’s,  to  wliom  she  had  beendes- 
})atc}ied  for  groct  ries. 

Two  lioui's  more  liad  now  elaj^sed,  the  crowds 
were  neaily  di^-pcr'^ed,  and  the  evn  iiing  was  begin- 
idng  to  s»  t in,  when  Hvey  l>urke  calletl  at  the  p<*st- 
ofiiee,  and  Tor  tlie  second  time  dining  the  day,  asked 
il‘  tiiere  was  a letter  lor  Iiim. 

The  po.-^t-m aster  searched  again, and  replied,  “ No; 
but  here’s  another  for  Bryan  M’Mahon.  ’ 

“What!”  he  exclaimed,  “another  for  Bryan! 
Why  he  must  have  an  extensive  corn‘sponden(‘e,  this 
Brvan  M Mahon.  I wonder  who  it’s  from.” 

“There's  no  wonder  at  all  abuot  it,”  replied  the 
post-master,  “it's  IVom  Major  Vanston.  Here’s  his 
frank  ami  hand-writing  in  the  direction  and  all.” 

“Allow  me  to  look,”  said  Uvey,  glancing  at  it. 
“Yt'S,  yon  are  quite  right,  that  is  the  gallant  Ma- 
jor’s hand,  without  any  mistake  whatsoever.  I will 
hot  fetch  him  this  letter,”  he  proceeded,  “ because  I 
know  not  when  I may  see  him;  but  if  I see  him,  I 
shall  tell  him.” 

Peety  Dhn,  who  had  so  placed  himself  in  the  shop 
attached  to  the  post-office,  on  seeing  llycy  approach, 
that  he  might  overhear  thi-*  conversation  without 
being  seen,  felt  considt  raldy  surprised,  that  Ilycy 
should  seem  to  have  been  ignorant  that  there  was 
a letter  M'Mihon,  seeing  that  it  was  Ije  himself 
w ho  had  sent  it  there.  He  consequently  began  to 
feel  tiiat  there  was  some  mystery  in  the  matter;  but 
A^hatever  it  tnight  be,  he  knew  that  it  w’as  beyond 
his  power  to  develope. 

On  coming  forward  from  the  dark  part  of  the 


364 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OE  AHADARRA. 


shop  where  he  had  been  standing,  he  asked  the 
post -master  if  there  w^as  a second  letter  for  IM’- 
Mahon. 

“ No,”  replied  the  man,  “ there  is  only  tlie  one.  If 
yon  see  him,  tell  him  there’s  a letter  from  Major 
Vanston  in  the  office  for  him.” 

We  must  still  trace  llycy’s  motions.  On  leaving 
the  post-office,  he  went  directly  to  the  Head  Inn, 
where  lie  knew  Bryan  M’Mahon  was  waitiiiir  un.il 
the  town  should  liecome  perfectly  calm  and  quie  t. 
Here  he  found  Bryan,  whose  mind  was  swayed  now 
to  one  side  and  now  to  another,  on  considering  the 
])rinciple  on  w’hich  he  had  voted,  and  the  consequen- 
ces to  which  tiiat  act  might  expose  him. 

“ I know  I w’ill  have  much  to  endure,”  he  thought, 
while  pacing  the  room  by  himself  in  every  way,  “ but 
I little  value  anytiiing  the  worhl  at  large  may  think 
or  say, so  iliat  I don’t  lose  tiie  love  and  good  opinion 
of  Kathleen  Cavanagh.” 

“Why,  Bryan,”  said  Hycy  as  he  entered,  '^1 
think  you  must  jirovide  a secretary  some  of  these 
days,  your  correspondence  is  increasing  so  rapidly,” 

“ How  is  that  ? ” inquired  tlie  other. 

“ Simply  that  there's  anotlier  letter  in  the  post- 
office  for  you,  and  if  I don't  mistaki',  from  the  same 
hand  — tliat  of  our  friend  the  Major.” 

“ I'm  not  aware  of  any«  liiug  he  couM  have  to  write 
to  me  about  now,”  replied  Bryan;  “I  wonder  what 
can  it  be?” 

“If  you  wish  I shall  fetch  you  tlie  letter,”  said 
Hycy,  “as  you  have  an  objection  I suppose  logo  out 
until  the  town  is  empty.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


365 


“Thank  you,  Hycy,  I'll  feel  obliged  to  you  if  you 
do  ; and  Ilycy,  by  the  way,  I am  sorry  that  you  and 
I ever  mistook,  or  misunderstood  one  another;  but 
sich  things  happen  to  tlie  best  of  friends,  and  why 
should  we  hope  to  escape  ? ” 

“ S]>eak  only  for  yourself,  Bryan,”  replie<l  ITycy, 
“ the  misunderstanding  was  altogether  on  your  side, 
not  on  mine.  I always  knew  your  value  and  es- 
teemed you  ncordingly.  I shall  fetch  your  letter 
immediately.” 

Ofi  returning  he  placed  the  document  aforesaid  in 
MbMalnui’s  liands,  and  sai<l  in  imitaiion  of  liis  friend 
Teddy  Phais — “Come  now,  read  her  up.”  Bryan 
opened  the  letter,  and  in  tlie  act  of  doing  so,  a fifty 
pound  note  presented  itself,  of  wliich,  as  it  had  been 
cut  in  two,  one  half  fell  to  tlie  ground. 

“Hallo!”  exclaimed  Hycy,  suddenly  taking  it 
up,  “ this  hioks  well  — what  have  we  here  ? A fifty 
pound  note  ! ” 

“Yes,”  replied  Bryan;  “but  why  cut  in  two? 
here  liowever  is  something  written,  too — let  me  see — 

“‘Accept  this  as  an  earnest  of  better  things  for 
important  services.  Tne  fine  imposed  upon  you  has 
been  reduced  to  fifty  pounds — this  will  pay  it. 

“A  DEEPLY  OBLIGED  FRIEND.’  ” 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other  for  some 
lime  without  speaking.  At  length  M’iMahon’s  face 
became  ci  imsoned  with  irnlignation. 

“ Who  could  have  dared  to  do  this?”  said  he, 
once  more  looking  at  the  bank-m  te  and  the  few 
lines  that  accompanied  it.  “ Who  durst  suppose  that 


366 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


a M’Mahon  would  sell  liis  vote  for  a bribe?  Did 
Vansioii  suppose  that  money  would  sway  me?  for 
this  I am  sure  must  be  his  work.” 

Don’t  be  loo  sure  of  that,”  replied  ITycy ; ‘‘  don’t 
be  too  sure  that  it’s  not  some  one  that  wishes  you 
worse  than  Vanston  does.  In  my  opinion,  Bryan, 
that  letter  and  the  note  contained  in  it  were  sent  to 
you  by  some  one  who  wislies  to  have  it  whispered 
abroad  that  you  were  bribed.  It  surely  could  not 
be  Vanslon’s  interest  to  injure  your  character  or 
your  circumstances  in  any  sense;  and  I certainly 
think  him  too  honorable  to  deal  in  an  anonymous 
bribe  of  that  kind.” 

^‘Some  scounlrel  has  done  it,  that’s  clear;  but 
what  would  you  have  me  to  do,  Ilycy  ? You  are  up 
to  life  and  know  the  world  a great  deal  better  than 
I do  ; how  ought  I to  act  now  ? ” 

“ ril  tell  you  candidly,  my  dear  Bryan,  how  I 
think  you  ought  to  ait,  or  at  least  how  I w'ould  act 
my  sell  if  I were  in  your  place.”  He  then  paused 
for  a minute  and  proceeded  : — “ You  know  I may  be 
wrong,  Bryan,  but  I shall  advise  you  at  all  events 
honestly,  and  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  I w’ould 
keep  this  letter  and  this  note,  and  by  the  way,  what 
else  can  you  do? — I would  say  nothing  whatsoever 
about  it.  The  secret,  you  know,  rests  wdth  yourself 
and  me,  with  the  exception  of  the  party  that  sent  it. 
Now  mark  me,  I say — if  the  party  that  sent  this  be 
a friend,  there  will  be  no  more  about  it — it  will  drop 
into  the  grave ; but  if  it  came  from  an  enemy  the 
cry  of  bribery  will  be  whispered  about,  and  there 
will  be  an  attack  made  on  your  character.  In  this 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA.  86*1 

caso  you  can  be  at  no  loss  as  to  tlie  source  from 
M'hence  the  communication  came — Fethertonge  will 
then  most  assuredly  be  tiie  man  ; or,  harkee,  who 
knows  but  tlie  whole  thing  is  an  electioneering  trick 
resorted  to  for  the  purpose  of  impugning  your  vote, 
and  of  getting  Vanston  out  on  petition  and  scrutiny. 
Faith  am]  honor,  Bryan,  I tliink  that  this  last  is  the 
true  reading.” 

“Pm  inclined  to  agree  with  you  there,”  replied 
Bryan,  ‘‘that  looks  like  the  truth;  and  even  then 
I agree  with  you  still  that  Fethertonge  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Still  how  am  I to  act  ? ” 

“ In  either  case,  Bryan,  precisely  as  I said.  Keep 
the  letter  and  the  bank-note;  say  nothing  about  it 
— that  is  clearly  your  safest  plan  ; do  not  let  them 
out  of  your  hands,  for  the  lime  may  come  when 
it  will  be  necessary  to  your  own  character  to  show 
them.” 

“ We\],  then,  I will  be  guided  by  you,  Ilycy.  As 
you  say  no  one  knows  the  secret  but  yourself  and 
me;  if  it  has  come  from  a friend  he  will  say  nothing 
about  it,  but  if  it  has  come  from  an  enemy  it  will 
be  whispered  about ; but  at  all  events  I have  you 
as  prod  that  it  did  not  come  to  me  by  any  bargain 
of  mine.” 

ilycy  spoke  not  a word  but  clapped  him  ap- 
])rovingly  on  the  shoulder,  as  much  as  to.say — “Ex- 
actly so,  that  is  precisely  the  fact,”  and  thus  ended 
tlie  dialogue. 

We  all  know  that  the  clearer  the  mirror  the 
slighter  will  be  the  breath  necessary  to  stain  it;  on 
the  breast  of  an  unsullied  shirt  the  most  minute 


868 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


speck  will  be  offensively  visible.  So  is  it  witli  hu- 
man character  and  integrity.  Had  Bryan  M’Muhon 
belonged  to  a family  of  mere  ordinary  rej)iitation  — 
to  a family  who  liad  generally  participate  d in  all  the 
good  and  evil  of  life,  as  they  act  upon  and  shaj)e  the 
great  mass  of  society,  liis  vote  might  certainly  have 
created  much  annoyance  to  his  party  for  a very 
brief  period — just  as  other  votes  given  from  the 
usual  motives — sometimes  right  and  honorable — 
sometimes  wrong  and  corrupt — U'^ually  do.  In  his 
case,  however,  there  was  something  calculated  to 
startle  and  alarm  all  those  who  knew  and  were  ca- 
pable of  appreciating  the  stainless  honor  and  here- 
ditary integrity  of  the  family.  Tiie  M’Mahons, 
though  inoffensive  and  liberal  in  their  intercourse 
with  the  world,  even  upon  matters  of  a polemical 
nature,  were  nevertheless  deeply  and  devotedly  at- 
tached to  their  own  religion,  and  to  all  those  who  in 
any  way  labored  or  contributed  to  relieve  it  of  its 
disabilities,  and  restore  those  who  professed  it  to 
that  civil  liberty  which  had  been  so  hmg  denied 
them.  This  indeed  was  very  natural  on  the  part  of 
the  M’Mahons,  who  would  sooner  have  thought  of 
taking  to  the  highway,  or  burning  their  neighbor’s 
premises,  than  supporting  the  interests  or  strength- 
ening the  hands  of  any  public  man  placed  in  a po- 
sition to  use  a hostile  influence  against  them.  There 
-was  only  one  other  family  in  the  barony,  who  in  all 
that  the  M’Mahons  felt  respecting  iheir  religion  and 
civil  liberty,  w^ere  far  in  advance  of  tlnun.  These 
were  the  Cavanaghs,  between  whom  and  the  M’Ma- 
hons there  existed  so  many  strong  points  of  resem- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


369 


blance  that  they  only  differed  from  the  others  in 
degrte — especially  on  matters  connected  with  re- 
ligion and  its  privileges.  In  these  matters  the  Cav- 
anaghs  were  tirm,  stern,  and  inflexible — nay,  so 
heroic  was  the  entliU'iasni  and  so  immovable  the 
attachment  of  this  whole  family  to  their  creed,  that 
we  have  no  hesitation  whatever  in  saying  that  they 
'Would  have  laid  down  their  lives  in  its  defence,  or 
for  its  promotion,  had  such  a sacriflee  been  demand- 
ed from  ihem.  On  sucli  a family,  then,  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  desciibe  the  eff  cts  of  what  was  termed 
Bryan  M Mahon’s  apostacy.  Tne  intelligence  came 
upon  them  in  fact  like  a calamity.  On  the  very 
evening  beh>re,  Gerald  Cavanag)*,  now  a fierce  ad- 
vocate for  Edward  Burke,  having,  in  compliance  with 
old  Jemmy,  altogether  abandoned  Hycy,  had  been 
urging  iijion  Kathleen  the  prudi-nce  and  propriety 
of  giving  Bryan  ^I’Mahon  up,  and  receiving  the 
addresses  of  young  Burke,  who  was  to  inherit  the 
bulk  of  his  father's  wealth  and  property;  and  among 
oth^r  arguments  against  M’Malu^n  he  stated  a wliis- 
per  tlien  gaining  ground,  that  it  was  his  interUion 
to  vote  for  Vanston. 

“But  1 know  to  the  contrary,  father,”  said  Kath- 
leen, “ for  I spoke  to  liini  on  that  very  subject,  and 
Brvan  M'Mahon  is  neither  treacherous  nor  cowardly, 
an’  won’t  of  course  abandon  his  religion  or  betray  it 
into  the  hands  of  its  enemies.  Once  for  all,  then,” 
she  added,  calmly,  and  with  a smile  full  of  aflection 
and  good  liumor,  “ I say  you  may  spare  both  your- 
self and  me  a great  deal  of  trouble,  my  dear  father. 
I grant  you  that  1 like  and  esteem  Edward  Burke 


870 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


as  a friend,  an’  I tliink  that  he  really  is  what  his 
brother  llycy  wishes  himself  to  be  thotight — a true 
gentleman — but  that  is  all,  father,  you  know;  for  I 
would  scorn  to  conceal  it,  that  Bryan  M’Mahon  has 
my  affections,  aiid  until  he  proves  false  to  his  God, 
his  religion,  and  his  country,  I will  never  prove  false 
to  him  nor  withdraw  my  affections  from  him.” 

“For  all  that,”  replied  her  father,  “it’s  strongly 
suspected  that  he’s  goin’  over  to  the  tories,  an’  will 
vole  for  Vanston  to•raorrow^” 

Kathleen  rose  with  a glowing  cheek,  and  an  eye 
sparkling  with  an  enthusiastic  trust  in  her  lover’s 
faitii ; “No,  father,”  said  she,  “ by  the  light  of 
heaven  above  us,  he  wdll  never  vote  for  Vanston — 
unless  Vanston  becomes  the  friend  of  our  religion. 
I have  only  one  worthless  life,  but  if  I had  a thou- 
sand, and  that  every  one  of  them  was  worth  a queen’s. 
I’d  stake  them  all  on  Bryan  M'Mahon’s  truth.  If  he 
ever  turns  traitor— let  me  die  before  I hear  it,  I pray 
God  this  night ! ” 

As  she  spoke,  the  tears  of  pride,  trust,  and  the 
noble  attacliment  by  which  she  was  moved,  ran 
down  her  cheeks ; in  fact,  the  natural  dignity  and 
liigh  moral  force  of  her  character  awed  them,  and 
her  father  completely  subdued,  simply  replied — 

“Very  well,  Kathleen;  I’ll  say  no  more,  dear;  I 
w^on’t  press  the  matter  on  you  again,  and  so  ni  tell 
Jemmy  Burke.” 

Kathleen,  after  wiping  away  her  tears,  thanked 
liirn,  and  said  with  a smile,  and  in  spite  of  the  most 
boundless  confidence  in  the  integrity  of  her  lover, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


3tl 


never,  at  any  rate,  father,  until  Bryan  M’Mahon 
turns  a traitor  to  his  religion  aiitl  his  country.'’ 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  or  rather  late  at 
night,  her  father  returned  from  the  scene  of  contest, 
but  very  fortunately  fnr  Kitlileen’s  peace  of  mind 
during  that  night,  lie  found  on  inquiry  that  she  and 
Hanna  had  been  f >r  a coindderable  time  in  bed. 
Tne  following  morning  Hanna,  who  always  took  an 
active  siiare  in  the  duties  of  the  family,  and  who 
would  scarcely  permit  her  sister  to  do  anything,  had 
been  up  a short  time  before  her,  and  iieard  from  her 
mother’s  lips  the  history  of  Bryan's  treachery,  as  it 
was  now  termed  by  all.  We  need  scarcely  say  that 
she  was  deeply  affected,  and  wept  bitterly.  Kath- 
leen, who  rose  a few  minutes  afterwards,  thought 
she  saw  her  sister  endeavoring  to  conceal  her  face, 
but  the  idea  passed  away  without  leaving  anything 
like  a fixed  impression  upon  it.  Hanna,  who  was 
engaged  in  various  parts  of  the  house,  contrived 
still  to  keep  her  face  from  the  observation  of  her 
sister,  until  at  length  the  latter  was  ultimately  struck 
by  the  circumstance  as  well  as  by  Hanna’s  unusual 
silence.  Just  as  lier  father  had  entered  to  bre  akfast, 
a sob  reached  her  ears,  and  on  going  over  to  inquire 
if  anything  were  wrong,  Hanna,  who  was  now  fairly 
overcome,  and  could  conceal  her  distress  no  longer, 
ran  over,  and  throwing  herself  on  Kaihleen’s  neck, 
she  exclaimed  in  a violent  burst  of  grief, ‘‘ Kath- 
leen, my  darling  sister,  what  wdl  becoine  of  you  ! 
It’s  all  true.  Bryan  has  proved  false  and  a traitor  ; 
he  voted  for  Vanston  yesterday,  and  that  vote  lias 
put  the  bitter  enemy  of  our  faith  into  Parliament.” 


372  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

“ Bryan  M’Malion  a traitor  ! ” exclaimed  Kath- 
leen ; “no,  Hanna — no,  I say — a thoiisaiivl  times 
no.  It  could  not  be — the  thing  is  impossii)le — 
impossible  ! ” 

“It  is  as  true  as  God’s  in  heaven,  that  he  voted 
yesterday  for  Vanston,”  said  her  father;  I both  seen 
him  and  heard  him,  an’  that  vote  it  was  that  gained 
V anston  the  election.” 

Hanna,  whose  arms  were  still  around  her  sister's 
neck,  felt  her  stagger  beneath  her  on  hearing  those 
words  from  her  father. 

“You  say  you  saw  him,  father,  and  hard  him  vote 
for  Vanston.  You  say  you  did  ? ” 

“ I both  seen  the  traitor  an’  hard  him,”  replied 
the  old  man. 

“ Hanna,  dear,  let  .me  sit  down,”  said  Kathleen, 
and  Hanna,  encircling  her  with  one  hand,  drew  a 
chair  over  with  the  other,  on  which,  with  a ch.eek 
pale  as  death,  her  sister  sat,  whilst  Hanna  still  wept 
with  her  arms  about  her.  After  a long  silence  she 
at  last  simply  said: — 

“ I must  bear  it ; but  in  this  world  my  happiness 
is  gone,” 

“ Don’t  take  it  so  much  to  heart  avournecn,”  said 
her  mother;  “ but,  any  way,  hadn’t  you  betther  see 
himself,  an’  hear  wdiat  he  has  to  say  for  himself. 
Maybe,  afther  all,  it’s  not  so  bad  as  it  looks.  See 
him,  Kathleen;  maybe  there’s  not  so  much  harm  in 
it  yet.” 

“ No,  mother,  see  him  I will  not,  in  that  sense. — 
Bryan  M'Mahon  a traitor!  Am  I a dreamer?  I 
am  not  asleep,  and  Bryan  M’Mahon  is  false  to  God 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


373 


and  Ills  country!  I did  think  that  he  would  give 
Ills  life  for  both,  if  he  was  called  upon  to  do  so  ; but 
not  that  he  would  prove  false  to  them  as  he  has 
done.” 

‘•lie  has,  indeed,”  said  her  father,  “and  the  very 
person  you  hate  so  much,  bad  as  you  think  him,  did 
all  in  his  power  to  prevent  him  from  doin’  the  black 
deed.  I seen  that,  too,  and  hard  it.  Hycy  per- 
suaded liirn  as  much  as  lie  could  against  it;  but  he 
wouldn’t  listen  to  him,  nor  pay  him  any  attention.” 

“ Kathleen,”  said  her  sister,  “ the  angels  in 
lieaven  fell,  and  surely  it  isn’t  wonderful  that  even 
a good  man  should  be  tempted  and  fall  from  the 
truth  as  they  did  ? ” 

Kathleen  seemed  too  much  abstracted  by  lier  dis- 
tress to  hear  this.  She  booked  around  at  them  all, 
one  after  another,  and  said  in  a low,  composed,  and 
solemn  voice,  “All  is  over  now  between  that  young 
man  and  me — and  here  is  one  request  which  I 
earnestly  entreat  you — every  one  of  you — to  comply 
with.” 

“ What  is  it  darling?  ” said  her  mother. 

“It  is,”  she  replied,  “never  in  my  hearing  to  men- 
tion his  name  while  I live.  As  for  myself,  I will 
never  name  him  ! ” 

“ And  think,  after  all,”  observed  her  father,  “ of 
poor  Ilycy  bein’  true  to  his  religion  ! ” 

It  would  seem  tliat  her  heart  was  struggling  to 
fling  tlie  image  of  M’Mahon  from  it,  but  without  ef- 
fect. It  was  likely  she  tried  to  hate  liim  for  his 
apostacy,  but  she  could  not.  Still,  her  spirit  was 
darkened  with  scorn  and  indignation  at  the  act  of 


874 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 


dishonor  which  she  felt  her  lover  had  committed, 
just  as  the  atmosphere  is  by  a tempest.  In  fact,  she 
detested  what  she  considered  the  baseness  and 
treaciiery  of  the  vote;  but  could  not  of  a sudden 
change  a love  so  strong,  so  trusting,  and  so  pure  as 
hers,  into  the  passions  of  enmity  and  liatred.  No 
sooner,  however,  had  her  father  named  Hycy  Burke 
with  such  approval,  than  the  storm  within  lier  direct- 
ed itself  against  him,  and  she  said,  “ For  God’s  sake, 
father,  name  not  that  unprincipled  wretch  tome  any 
more.  I liate  and  detest  him  more  than  any  man 
li  ving.  He  has  no  good  quality  to  redeem  ])iin.  Ah  ! 
Hanna,  Hanna,  and  is  it  come  to  this?  The  dream 
of  ray  happiness  has  vanished,  and  I awake  to  noth- 
ing now  but  affliction  and  sorrow.  As  for  happiness, 
I must  think  of  that  no  more.  Father,  after  break- 
fast, do  you  go  up  to  that  young  man,  and  tell  liirn 
the  resolution  I have  come  to,  and  that  it  is  over  for 
ever  between  him  and  me.” 

Soon  after  this,  she  once  more  exacted  a promise 
from  them  to  observe  a strict  silence  on  the  unhappy 
event  which  had  occurred,  and  by  no  means  ever  to 
attempt  offering  her  consolation.  Tliese  promises 
they  religiously  kept,  and  from  this  forth  neither 
M’Mahon’s  name  nor  Ins  offence  were  made  the 
topics  of  any  conversation  that  occurred  between 
them. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


375 


CHAPTER  XX. 

m'mAIIOX  IS  DENOUNCED  FROM  THE  ALTAR — RECEIVES 
Ills  SKNTENCE  FROM  KATHLEEN,  AND  RESOLVES  TO 
EMIGliATE. 

Whatever  difficulty  Bryan  M’Mahon  had  among 
Ills  family  in  defending  llie  course  lie  had  taken  at 
the  election,  he  found  that  not  a soul  belonging  to 
Ids  own  party  would  listen  to  any  defence  from  him. 
The  indignation,  obloquy,  and  spirit  of  revenge  with 
which  lie  was  pursued  and  harassed,  excited  in  his 
heart,  as  they  would  in  that  of  any  generous  man 
conscious  of  his  own  integrity,  a principle  of  con- 
tempt and  defiance,  whicli,  however  they  required 
independance  in  him,  only  made  matters  far  worse 
than  they  otherwise  would  have  been.  He  express- 
ed neither  regret  nor  repentance  for  having  voted 
as  he  did  ; but  on  the  contrary  asserted  with  a good 
deal  of  warmth,  tliat  if  the  same  course  lay  open  to 
liirn  he  would  again  pursue  it. 

“ I will  never  vote  for  a scoundrel,”  said  he,  “ and 
I don’t  think  that  there  is  anything  in  my  religion 
that  makes  it  a duty  on  me  to  do  so.  If  ray  religion 
is  to  be  supported  by  scoundrels,  the  sooner  it  is 
forced  to  depend  on  itself  the  better.  Mnjor  Vans- 
ton  is  a good  landlord,  and  supports  the  rights  of 
liis  tenantry,  Catholic  as  well  as  Protestant;  he 
saved  me  from  ruin  when  my  own  landlord  refused 
to  interfere  for  me,  an’  Major  Vanston,  if  he’s  con- 
scientiously opposed  to  my  religion,  is  an  honest 


876 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


man  at  all  events,  and  an  honest  man  I’ll  ever  sup- 
port against  a rogue,  a«)d  let  their  politics  go  where 
they  generally  do,  “ go  to  the  devil.” 

Party  is  a blind,  selfish,  inlatiialed  monster,  bru- 
tal and  vehement,  that  knows  not  what  is  meant  by 
reason,  justice,  liberty,  or  truth.  M’Mahon,  merely 
because  he  gave  utterance  with  proper  spirit  to  sen- 
ments  of  plain  common  sense,  was  assailed  by  every 
description  of  abuse,  until  he  knew  not  where  to 
take  refuge  from  that  cowardly  and  ferocious  tyranny 
which  in  a hundred  shapes  proceed  from  the  pub- 
lic mob.  On  the  Sunday  after  the  election,  his 
parish  priest,  one  of  those  political  fire  brands  wlio, 
whether  under  a mitre  or  a white  band,  are  equally 
disgraceful  and  detrimental  to  religion  and  the  peace- 
ful interests  of  mankind — this  man,  we  say,  0[)enly 
denounced  him  from  tiie  altar,  in  language  which 
must  have  argued  but  little  reverence  for  the  sacred, 
place  from  which  it  was  uttereJ,  and  which  came 
with  a very  bad  grace  from  one  wlio  affected  to  be 
an  advocate  for  liberty  of  conscience  and  a minis- 
ter of  peace. 

‘‘Ay,”  he  proceeded,  standing  on  the  altar,  “it  is 
well  known  to  our  disgrace  and  shame  how  the  elec- 
tion was  lost.  Oh,  well  may  I say  to  our  disgrace 
and  shame.  Little  did  I think  that  any  one,  bearing 
the  once  respectable  name  of  M’Mahon  upon  him, 
should  turn  from  the  interests  of  his  lioly  church, 
spurn  all  truth,  violate  all  principle,  and  enter  into  a 
league  of  hell  wiih  the  devil  and  the  enemies  of  his 
church.  Yes,  you  apostate,”  he  proceeded,  “ you 
have  entered  into  a laugue  with  him,  and  ever  since 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


377 


there  is  devil  within  yon.  You  sold  yourself  to  his 
agent  and  rejjresenlali ve,  Yanston.  You  got  liiiu 
to  in  erfeie  for  } on  \\  iili  the  Board  uT  Excise,  and  the 
fine  that  was  jnsily  iiiip^  sed  on  you  for  your  siruig- 
gliii’  and  dislilliu’  whisky — not  that  I’lii  rmmin’ 
dow’n  our  wdiisky,  because  it’s  the  best  drinkin’  of 
that  kind  w’e  have,  and  drinks  beautiful  as  soatJdeea 
wdd  a bit  of  butther  ami  sugar  in  it — but  it’snoioii- 
ous  that  you  went  to  Yanston,  and  offered  if  lie’d 
get  the  fine  off  you,  that  you’d  give  him  your  vole; 
an’  if  that’s  not  selliu’  yourself  to  the  devil,  I don’t 
know  what  i^*.  Judas  did  the  same  thing  w hen  he 
betrayed  our  Savior — the  only  ditforence  is — that  he 
got  a thirty  shilling  note — an’  God  knows  it  was  a 
beggarly  bargain — wdien  his  hand  was  in  he  ought 
to  have  done  the  thing  dacent — and  you  g it  the  tine 
taken  olf  you;  that’s  the  difference — lliat’s  the  dif- 
ference. But  there’s  more  to  come — more  corrup- 
tion w here  that  was.  Along  wid  the  removal  of  the 
fine  you  got  a better  note  than  Mr.  Judas  got.  Do 
you  happen  to  know  anything  about  a fifty  pound 
note  cut  in  two  halves?  Eh?  Am  I tickling  you  ? 
Do  you  happen  to  know  anything  about  that,  you 
traicherous  apostate?  It  you  don’t,  I do;  and 
plaise  God  before  many  hours  the  public  w^ill  know 
enough  of  it  too.  How  dare  you,  then,  pollute  the 
house  of  God,  or  come  in  presence  of  His  h dy 
altar,  wid  such  a crust  of  crimes  upon  your  soul  ? 
Can  you  deny  that  you  entered  into  a league  of  liell 
wid  the  devil  and  Major  Yanston,  and  that  you 
promised  him  your  vote  if  he'd  get  the  fine  remov- 
ed?” 


378 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘I  can,”  replied  Bryan;  there’s  not  one  word  of 
truth  in  it.” 

‘ Do  you  hear  tiiat,  niy  friends?”  exclaimed  the 
priest ; “ he  calls  your  priest  a liar  upon  the  altar  of 
tlic  livin’  Go<l.” 

Here  M'Mahon  was  assailed  by  such  a storm  of 
groans  and  hisses  as,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  was  con^ 
siderably  at  variance  with  the  principles  of  religion 
and  the  worship  of  God. 

“ Do  you  deny,’’  the  priest  proceeded,  “ that  you 
received  a bribe  of  fifty  pounds  on  the  very  day  you 
voted  ? Answer  me  that.” 

‘ I did  receive  a fifty-pound  note  in  a — ” 

Further  he  couhl  not  proceed.  It  was  in  vain  that 
lie  at tvm[ited  to  give  a true  account  of  the  letter 
and  its  enclosure ; the  enmity  was  not  confined  to 
either  groans  or  liisses.  He  was  seized  upon  in  the 
very  chapel,  dragged  about  in  all  directions,  kicked, 
punclied,  and  beaten,  until  the  apprehension  of  liav- 
ing  a murder  committed  in  presence  of  God’s  altar 
caused  tlie  priest  to  interfere.  M’Mahon,  however, 
was  ejected  from  the  chapel ; but  in  such  a state 
that,  for  siune  minutes,  it  could  scarcely  be  ascer- 
tained whether  he  was  alive  or  dead.  After  he 
liad  somewhat  recovered,  his  friends  assisted  him 
home,  where  he  lay  confined  to  a sick  bed  for  better 
than  a w^eek. 

Such  is  a tolerably  exact  desenption  of  scenes 
which  liave  too  frequently  taken  plac.e  in  the  coun- 
try, to  tlie  disgrac.e  of  religion  ami  the  dishonor  qf 
God.  We  are  bound  to  say,  however,  that  none 
among  the  priesthood  encourage  or  take  a part  in 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


379 


them,  unless  those  low  and  bii^oted  firebrands  who 
arealike  remarkable  for  vulgarity  and  ignorance,  and 
who  are  perpetually  inflamed  by  that  meddling  spirit 
wliicli  tempts  tiiern  from  the  quiet  patliofduty  into 
scenes  of  political  stiife  and  enmity,  in  which  they 
seem  to  be  peculiarly  at  home.  Such  scenes  are  re- 
pulsive to  the  educated  priest,  and  to  all  who,  from 
superior  minds  and  information,  are  perfectly  aware 
that  no  earthly  or  other  good,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
much  bitterness,  strife,  and  evil,  ever  result  from 
them. 

Gerald  Cavanagh  was  by  no  means  so  deeply 
aflketed  by  M'Malion’s  vote  as  were  his  two  daugii- 
lers.  He  looked  upon  the  circumstance  as  one  cal- 
culated to  pp>mote  the  views  wliich  he  entertained 
for  Kathleen’s  happiness.  Ever  since  the  notion  of 
Ijer  marriage  with  Ilycy  Burke  or  Ids  brother — it 
mattered  little  to  him  which — he  felt  exceedingly 
dissatisfied  with  her  attachment  to  M’Mahon.  Of 
this  weakness,  which  we  may  say,  was  the  only  one 
of  the  family,  we  have  already  spoken.  He  lost 
little  time,  however,  in  going  to  communicate  his 
daughter’s  determination  to  that  young  man.  It  so 
happened,  however,  that,  notwithstanding  three 
several  journeys  made  lor  the  purpose,  he  could  not 
see  liirn  ; the  fact  being:  that  Bryan  always  hap- 
pened to  be  from  home  when  he  went.  Then  came 
the  denouncing  scene  which  we  have  just  described, 
when  his  illness  put  it  out  of  his  power,  witliout 
danger  to  himself,  to  undergo  anything  calculated 
to  discompose  or  disturb  him.  Tlje  popular  feeling, 
however,  was  fearfullv  high  and  indignant  against 

7 O O O 


880 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


him.  The  report  went  that  he  l»ad  called  Father 
jr Pepper,  the  senior  curate,  a liar  upon  tiie  very 
altar;  and  the  commencement  of  his  ex|)laiianoii 
witli  respect  to  the  tifly-poiind  note,  was  n(»t  inniat- 
iirally — since  they  woiihi  not  permit  him  to  speak — 
construed  into  an  open  admission  of  his  having  been 
bribed. 

Tliis  was  severe  and  trying  enough,  but  it  was  not 
all.  Chevydah*,  whom  he  unseated  by  liis  vole,  af- 
ter having  incurred  several  thousand  pounds  of 
expense,  was  resolved  to  make  him  suffer  for  tlie 
loss  of  his  seat,  as  well  as  for  having  dared  to  vote 
against  Idm — a purpose  in  which  he  was  strongly 
supported,  or  into  vvhicl),  we  should  rather  say,  he 
M^as  urged  by  Fethertonge,  who  in  p<>int  of  fact, 
now  that  the  leases  had  dropped,  was  negotiating  a 
beneficial  bargain  with  the  guager,  apart  from 
Chevydale’s  knowledge,  who  was  a feeble,  weak- 
minded  man,  witliout  experience  or  a proper  know- 
ledge of  his  duties.  In  fact  he  was  one  of  tltose 
persons  who,  having  no  fixed  character  of  their  own, 
are  either  good  or  evil,  according  to  the  principles 
of  those  by  whom  they  happen  for  the  time  to  be 
managed.  If  Chevydale  had  been  under  the  guid- 
ance of  a sensible  and  humane  agent  he  would  have 
been  a good  landlord  ; but  the  fact  being  otherwise^ 
lie  was,  in  Fethertonge’s  hands,  anything  but  what 
a landlord  ought  to  be.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  p<*ri- 
od  of  ^[’Mahon’s  illness  passed  away,  and,  on  rising 
from  liis  sick  be«l,  he  found  the  charge  of  bribery 
one  of  universal  belief  against  which  scarcely  any 
person  had  courage  to  raise  a voice.  Even  Ilycy 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


381 


suffered  himself,  as  it  were,  with  great  regret  and 
reiuctance,  to  become  at  length  persuaded  of  its 
truth.  Kathleen,  on  hearing  that  he  himself  had 
been  forced  to  admit  it  in  the  cliapel,  felt  that  tlie 
gloom  which  had  of  late  wrapped  her  in  its  shadow 
DOW  hecariie  so  black  and  impervious,  that  she  could 
see  nothing  distinctly.  The  two  facts — that  is  to 
say,  the  vote  and  the  brii)ery — seemed  to  her  like 
sofue  frightful  hallucination  which  lay  upon  her 
spirits — some  formidable  illusion  that  haunted  her 
night  and  day,  and  filled  her  whole  being  with  des- 
olation and  sorrow. 

Witli  respect  to  his  own  feelings  there  was  but 
one  thought  w'hich  gave  him  concern,  and  this  was  an 
apprehen-ion  that  Katlileen  rnigiit  be  carried  aw^ay 
by  the  gencr  il  prejudice  wdiich  existed  against  him. 

“I  know  Kathleen,  how’ever,”  he  would  sdy  ; “I 
know  her  truth,  her  good  sense,  and  her  affection; 
and,  wliatever  the  wmrld  may  say,  she  won’t  follow 
its  example  and  condemn  me  without  a hearing.  I 
w ill  see  her  to-morrow  an<l  explain  all  to  her.  Fath- 
er,” he  abided,  “ wfill  you  ask  Dora  if  she  w'ill  w’alk 
w ith  me  to  the  Long-shot  Mea  low  ? I tljink  a stroll 
round  it  will  do  me  good.  I haven’t  altogether  re- 
covered  my  strength  yet.” 

“To  be  sure  I will  go  wdth  you,  Bryan,”  said  the 
brigiit-eyed  and  affectionate  sister,  “to  be  sure  I 
w ill ; it’s  on  my  W’ay  to  Gerald  Cavanagh’s;  and  I’m 
going  ilown  to  see  how  tliey  are,  and  to  know  if 
something  I heard  about  them  is  thrue.  I w^ant  to 
satisfy  rnvself;  but  they  musn’t  get  on  their  high 
horse  wfith  me,  I can  tell  them.” 


3S2 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  • AHAHARRA. 


“ You  never  doubted  me,  Dora,”  said  Bryan,  as 
they  went  along — “ you  never  supposed  for  a mo- 
ment lliat  I could” — lie  p lused.  “I  know,”  be 
added,  “ that  it  doesn’t  look  well;  but  you  never 
supposed  ibat  I acted  from  treachery,  or  deceit,  or 
want  of  affection  or  respect  for  my  religion  ? You 
don’t  suppose  that  what  all  the  country  is  ringin’ 
with — that  I took  a bribe  or  made  a bargain  with 
Vanston— 'is  true  ? ” 

“Why  do  you  ask  me  such  questions?”  she  re- 
plied. “You  acted  on  the  spur  of  the  minute  ; and 
I say,  aftlier  what  you  heard  from  the  landlord  and 
agent,  if  you  had  voted  for  him  you’d  be  a mane, 
]>iiiful  hound,  unworthy  of  your  name  and  family. 
You  did  well  to  put  him  out.  If  I had  been  in  your 
place,  ‘ out  you  go,’  I’ti  say,  ‘ you’re  not  the  man  for 
my  money.’  Don’t  let  what  the  world  says  fret  you, 
Bryan  ; sure,  while  you  have  Kathleen  and  me  at 
your  back,  you  needn’t  care  about  them.  At  any 
rate  it’s  well  for  Father  M’Pepper  that  I’m  not  a 
man,  or,  priest  as  he  is,  I’d  make  a stout  horsewhip 
tache  him  to  mind  his  religion,  and  not  intermeddle 
in  jvolitics  where  he  has  no  business.” 

“ Why,  you’re  a great  little  soldier,  Dora,”  re- 
plied Bryan,  smiling  on  her  with  affectionate  admi- 
ration. 

“ I hate  anything  tyrannical  or  overbearing,”  she 
replied,  “ as  I do  anything  that’s  mane  and  un- 
generous.” 

“As  to  Father  M’Pepper,  we’re  not  to  take  him 
as  an  example  of  what  his  brother  priests  in  general 
arc  or  ought  to  be.  The  man  may  think  he  is  doing 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OT  ;SHAi:>AflRA. 


383 


only  his  duty ; but  at  all  events,  Dora,  he  has  prov- 
ed to  me,  very  much  at  my  own  cost  I grant,  that 
lie  has  more  zeal  than  discretion  ! May  God  for- 
give him;  and  that’s  the  worst  I wish  him.  When 
did  you  see  or  hear  from  Kathleen?  I long  to  give 
her  an  explanation  of  my  conduct,  because  I know 
slie  will  listen  to  raison.” 

“ Tliat’s  more  than  I know  yet,  then,”  replied 
Dora.  “She  lias  awful  high  notions  of  our  religion, 
an’  thinks  we  ought  to  go  about  huntin’  after  mar- 
tyrdom. Yes,  faix,  she  thinks  we  ought  to  lay 
down  our  lives  for  our  religion  or  our  count hry, 
if  we  were  to  be  called  on  to  do  so.  Isn’t  that  nice 
doctrine  ? She’s  always  reading  books  about 
them.” 

“It  is,  Dora,  and  thrue  doctrine;  and  so  we  ought 
— that  is,  if  our  deaths  would  serve  either  the  one 
or  the  other,” 

• “ And  would  you  die  for  them,  if  it  went  to  that  ? 
because  if  you  would,  I would  ; for  then  I’d  know 
that  I ought  to  do  it.” 

“ I don’t  know,  Dora,  whether  Fd  have  strength 
or  courage  to  do  so,  but  I know  one  who  would.” 

“I  know  too— Kathleen.” 

“Kathleen?  you  have  said  it.  She  would,  I am 
certain,  lay  down  her  life  for  either  her  religion  or 
the  welfare  of  her  country,  if  such  a sacrifice  could 
be  necessary.” 

“ Bryan,  I have  heard  a thing  about  her,  and 
I don’t  know  w'hether  I ought  to  tell  it  to  you 
or  not.” 

“ I lave  that  to  your  own  discretion,  Dora ; but 


r>84 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


you  haven’t  heard,  nor  can  you  tell  me  anything, 
but  what  must  be  to  her  credit.” 

“ I’ll  lell  you,  then  ; 1 lieaid  it,  but  I won’tbelieve 
it  till  I satbfy  myself — tliat  your  family  dar  n’t 
name  your  name  to  her  at  home,  and  that  everything 
is  10  be  over  between  you.  Now,  I’m  on  my  way 
there  to  know  whether  this  is  true  or  not;  if  it  is, 
I’ll  tliink  less  of  her  than  I ever  did.” 

“Audi  won’t  Dora;  but  will  think  more  liighly 
of  her  still.  She  thinks  I’m  as  bad  as  I’m  reported 
to  be.” 

“And  that's  just  what  she  ouglit  not  to  think. 
Why  not  see  you  and  ask  you  the  raison  of  it  like  a 
— ha  ! ha  ! — I was  goin’  to  say  like  a man  ? Sure  if 
she  was  as  generous  as  she  ought  to  be,  she’d  call 
upon  you  to  explain  yourself;  or,  at  any  rate,  she’<l 
defend  you  behind  ymur  back,  and,  when  the  world’s 
against  you,  whether  you  wor  right  or  wrong.” 

“ She’d  do  nothing  at  the  expense  of  truth,”  re- 
plied her  brother. 

“ Truth  !”  exclaimed  the  lively  and  generous  girl, 
now  cilching  warmth  from  her  o*wn  enthusiasm, 
“truth!  whu’d  regard  truth — ” 

“Dora!”  exclaimed  Bryan,  with  a serio-comic 
smile. 

“ Ila ! lia  ! ha ! — truth  ! wimt  was  I sayin’  ? No, 
I didn’t  mean  to  say  anything  against  truth  ; oh, 
no,  God  forgive  me  !”  she  added,  immediately  soft- 
ening, whilst  lier  bright  and  beautiful  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  “oh,  no,  nor  against  my  darlin’  Kath- 
leen either ; for,  Bryan,  I’m  tould  that  she  has 
never  smiled  since  ; and  that  the  color  that  left  her 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


385 


cheeks  wlien  she  heard  of  your  vote  has  never  come 
back  to  it;  and  that,  in  short,  her  heart  is  broken. 
However,  I’ll  soon  see  her,  and  maybe  I won't  |>lade 
your  cause;  no  lawyer  could  match  me.  Whisht!” 
she  exclaimed,  “ isn’t  that  Gerald  iiimself  cornin’ 
over  to  us  ?” 

“ It  is,”  replied  Bryan,  “ let  us  meet  him and, 
as  he  spoke,  tt>ey  turned  their  steps  towards  him. 
As  they  met,  Bryan,  forgetting  every  tiling  that  iiad 
occurred,  and  inlluenced  solely  by  the  habit  of  for- 
mer friendship  and  good  feeling,  extended  his  hand 
with  an  intention  of  clasping  that  of  his  old  acquaint- 
ance, but  the  latter  withdrew,  and  refused  to  meet 
tliis  usual  exponent  of  good  will. 

“Well,  Gerald,”  said  M’Mahon,  smiling,  “I 
see  you  go  with  the  world  too;  but,  since  you 
won’t  shake  hands  with  me,  allow  me  to  ask  your 
business.” 

“To  deliver  a message  to  you  from  my  daughter, 
and  she'd  not  allow  me  to  deliver  it  to  any  one  but 
yourself.  I came  three  times  to  see  you  before  your 
sickness,  but  I didn't  find  you  at  home.” 

“ What’s  the  message,  Gerald  ?” 

“The  message,  Bryan,  is — that  you  are  never  to 
spake  toiler,  nor  will  she  ever  more  name  your  name. 
She  will  never  be  your  wile;  for  she  says  tliat  the 
heart  that  forgeis  its  duty  to  God,  and  the  hand 
tliat  has  been  soiled  by  a bribe,  can  never  be  any- 
thing to  lier  but  the  cause  of  shame  and  sorrow; 
and  she  bids  me  say  that  her  happiness  is  gone  and 
her  heart  broken.  Now,  farewell,  and  think  of  the 


17 


386 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


girl  you  have  lost  by  disgracin’  your  religion  and 
your  name.” 

Bryan  paused  for  a moment,  as  if  irresolute  how 
to  act,  and  exchanged  glances  with  his  high-minded 
litile  sister, 

“ Tell  Kathleen,  from  me,”  said  the  latter,  ‘‘  that 
if  she  had  a little  more  feeling,  and  a little  less  pride 
or  religion,  I don’t  know  which,  she’d  be  more  of  a 
woman  and  less  of  a saint.  My  brother,  tell  her, 
has  disgraced  neither  his  religion  nor  his  name,  and 
that  he  Ims  too  much  of  the  pride  of  an  injured  man 
to  give  back  any  answer  to  sicli  a message.  That’s 
my  answer,  and  not  his,  and  you  may  ask  her  if  it’s 
either  religion  or  common  justice  that  makes  her 
condemn  him  she  loved  without  a hearing  ? Good- 
bye, now,  Gerald;  give  my  love  to  Hanna,  and  tell 
her  she’s  worth  a ship-load  of  her  stately  sister.” 

Bryan  remained  silent.  In  fact,  he  felt  so  complete- 
ly overwhelmed  that  he  was  incapable  of  uttering  a 
syllable.  On  seeing  Cavanagh  return,  he  was  about 
to  speak,  when  he  looked  upon  the  glowing  cheeks, 
flashing  eyes,  and  panting  bosom  of  iiis  heroic  little 
sister. 

You  are  right,  my  darling  Dora.  I "must  be 
proud  on  receiving  such  a message.  Kathleen  has 
done  me  injustice,  and  I must  be  proud  in  my  own 
defence.” 

The  full  burthen  of  this  day’s  care,  however,  had 
not  been  yet  laid  upon  him.  On  returning  home, 
he  heard  from  one  of  his  laborers  that  a notice  to 
quit  his  farm  of  Ahadarrahad  been  lelt  at  his  house. 
Tnis,  after  the  heavy  sums  of  money  which  he  had 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


387 


expended  in  its  improvement  and  reclamation,  was 
a bitter  addition  to  what  he  was  forced  to  suffer. 
On  hearing  of  this  last  circumstance,  and  after 
perusing  the  notice  which  the  man,  who  had  come 
on  some  other  message,  had  brought  with  him,  he 
looked  around  him  on  every  side  for  a considerable 
time.  At  length  he  said,  ^‘Dora,  is  not  this  a fine 
country  ? ” 

“It  is,”  she  replied,  looking  at  him  with  sur- 
prise. 

“ Would  you  like,”  he  added,  “ to  lave  it.” 

“ To  lave  it,  Bryan  !”  she  replied.  “ Oh,  no,  not 
to  lave  it and  as  she  spoke,  a deadly  paleness  set- 
tled upon  her  face. 

“Poor  Dora,”  he  said,  after  surveying  her  for  a 
time  with  an  expression  of  love  and  compassion,  “ I 
know  your  saicret,  and  have  done  so  this  long  time; 
but  don’t  be  cast  down.  You  have  been  a warm 
and  faithful  little  friend  to  me,  and  it  will  go  hard 
or  I’ll  befriend  you  yet.” 

Dora  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  as  she  did,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  “I  won’t  deny  what  you 
know,  Bryan,”  she  replied  ; “ and  unless  he — ” 

“ Well,  dear,  don’t  fret;  he  and  I will  have  a talk 
about  it ; but,  come  what  may,  Dora,  in  this  neglect- 
ed and  unfortunate  country  I will  not  stay.  Here, 
now,  is  a notice  to  quit  my  farm,  that  I have  im- 
proved at  an  expense  of  seven  or  eight  hundred 
pounds,  an’  it’s  now  goin’  to  be  taken  out  of  my 
hands,  and  every  penny  I expended  on  it  goes  into 
the  pocket  of  the  landlord  or  agent,  or  both,  and  I’m 
to  be  driven  out  of  house  and  home  without  a 


388 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAPwRA. 


single  farthing  of  compensation  for  the  build- 
ings and  other  improvements  that  I made  on  that 
farm.” 

“ It’s  a hard  and  cruel  case,”  said  Dora ; “ an’ 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  landlord  and 
Fethertonge  are  both  a pair  of  great  rogues.  Can’t 
you  challenge  them,  an’  figiit  them  ? ” 

“ Why,  what  a soldier  you  are,  Dora!”  replied 
her  brother,  smiling;  “but  you  don’t  know  that 
their  situation  in  life  and  mine  puts  that  entirely 
out  o’  the  question.  If  a landlord  was  to  be  called 
upon  to  fight  every  tenant  he  neglects,  or  is  unjust 
to,  he  would  have  a busy  time  of  it.  No,  no,  Dora 
dear,  my  mind’s  made  up.  We  will  lave  the 
country.  We  will  go  to  America;  but, in  the  mean 
time,  ril  see  what  I can  do  for  you.” 

“Bryan,  dear,”  she  said  in  a voice  of  entreaty, 
“don’t  think  of  it.  Oh,  stay  in  your  own  coun- 
try. Sure  what  other  country  could  you  like  as 
well?” 

“I  grant  you  that,  Dora;  but  the  truth  is,  there 
seems  to  be  a curse  over  it;  whatever’s  the  raison 
of  it,  nothing  goes  right  in  it.  Tlie  landlords  in 
general  care  little  about  the  state  and  condition  of 
their  tenantry.  All  they  trouble  themselves  about 
is  their  rents.  Look  at  rny  own  case,  an’  that’s  but 
one  out  of  thousands  that’s  happenin’  every  day  in 
the  country.  Grantin’  that  he  didn’t  sarve  me  with 
this  notice  to  quit,  an’  supposin’  he  let  me  stay  in 
the  farm,  he’d  rise  it  on  me  in  sich  a way  as  that  I 
could  hardly  live  in  it;  an’  you  know,  Dora,  that  to 
be  merely  strugglin’  an’  toilin’  all  one’s  life  is  any- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


389 


tiling  but  a comfortable  prospect.  1 hen,  in  conse- 
quence of  tiie  people  dependin’  upon  nothing  but  the 
potato  for  food,  whenever  that  cn.-p  fails,  which,  in 
general,  it  does  every  seventh  or  eighth  year,  there’s 
a famine,  an’  then  the  fimine  is  followed  by  fever 
an’  all  kinds  of  contagious  diseases,  in  sich  a way 
that  the  kingdom  is  turned  into  one  great  hospital 
and  grave-yard.  It’s  these  things  that’s  sendin’  so 
many  thousands  out  of  the  country  ; and  if  we’re  to 
go  at  all,  let  us  go  like  the  rest,  while  we’re  able  to 
go,  an’  not  wail  till  we  become  too  poor  either  to 
go  or  stay  with  comfort.” 

“ Well,  I suppose,”  replied  his  sister,  that  what 
you  say  is  true  enough  ; hut  for  all  that  I’d  rather 
bear  anything  in  my  own  dear  country  than  go  to  a 
strange  one.  Do  you  think  I’d  not  miss  the  summer 
sun  rising  behind  tiie  Althadawan  hills?  an’  how  could 
I live  without  seein’  him  set  behind  Mallybeney? 
An’  then  to  live  in  a country  where  I’d  not  see  these 
ould  hills,  the  green  glens,  and  mountain  rivers  about 
us,  that  have  all  grown  into  my  heart.  Oh,  Bryan, 
dear,  don’t  think  of  it— don’t  think  of  it.” 

“Dora,”  replied  the  other,  his  fine  countenance 
overslindowed  with  deep  emotion  as  he  spoke,  “ you 
cannot  love  these  ould  hills,  as  you  call  them,  nor 
these  beautiful  glens,  nor  the  mountain  rivers  better 
than  I do.  It  will  go  to  rny  heart  to  leave  them  ; 
but  leave  them  I will — ay,  and  when  I go,  you  know 
that  I will  leave  behind  me  one  that’s  deart  r ten 
thousand  times  than  them  all.  Kathle«  n’s  message 
has  left  me  a heavy  and  sorrowful  heart. 

“ I pity  iier  now,”  re}»lied  the  kiiid-hearted  girl ; 


390 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“but  still,  Bryan,  she  sent  you  a harsh  message. 
Ay,  I pity  her,  lor  did  you  observe  how  the  father 
looked  when  he  said  that  she  bid  him  tell  you  her 
happiness  was  gone,  and  her  heart  brt)ken ; still, 
she  ought  to  have  seen  yourself  and  heard  your 
defence.” 

“ I can  neither  blame  her,  nor  will ; neither  can 
I properly  justify  my  vote,  I grant;  it  was  surely 
very  wrong  or  she  wouldn’t  feel  it  as  she  does.  In- 
deed I think  I oughtn’t  to  have  voted  at  all.” 

“I  differ  with  you  there,  Bryan,”  replied  Dora, 
with  animation,  “ I would  rather,  ten  times  over, 
vote  wnmgly,  than  not  vote  from  cowardice.  It’s  a 
mane,  skulkin’,  shabby  thing,  to  be  afeard  to  vote 
when  one  has  a vote — it’s  unmanly.” 

“ I know  it  is;  and  it  was  that  very  thought  that 
made  me  vote.  I felt  that  it  would  look  both 
mane  and  cowardly  not  to  vote,  and  accordingly  I 
did  vote.” 

“Ay,  and  you  did  right,”  replied  his  spirited 
sister,  “ and  I don’t  care  wlio  opposes  you.  Til  sup- 
port you  for  it,  through  thick  .and  thin.” 

“And  I suppose  you  may  say  through  right  and 
wrong,  too  ? ” 

“Ay  would  I,”  she  replied;  “eh? — what  am  I 
sayin’  ? — throth  I’m  a little  mad-cap,  I think.  No, 
I won’t  support  you  through  right  and  wrong — it’s 
only  when  you’re  right  you  may  depend  on  me.” 

They  had  now  been  more  than  an  hour  strolling 
about  the  fields,  when  Bryan,  who  did  not  feel  him- 
self quite  so  strong  as  he  itnagined  he  was,  proposed 
to  return  to  his  father’s,  where,  by  the  way,  he  had 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


391 


been  conveyed  from  the  chapel  on  the  Sunday  when 
he  had  been  so  severely  maltreated. 

They  accordingly  did  so,  foi  he  felt  himself  weak, 
and  unable  to  prolong  his  walk  to  any  greater 
distance. 


892 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THOMAS  m’mAHON  IS  FORCED  TO  DETERMINE  ON  EMI- 
GRATION. 

Gerald  Cavanagh  felt  himself  secretly  relieved 
by  the  discharge  of  his  message  to  M’Mahon. 

“ It  is  good,”  thought  he,  “ to  have  that  affair  set- 
tled, an’  all  expectation  of  her  marriage  with  him 
knocked  up.  Pll  be  bound  a little  time  will  cool  the 
foolish  girl,  and  put  Edward  Burke  in  the  way  of 
succeedin’.  As  for  Hycy,  I see  clearly  that  whoever 
is  to  succeed,  he’s  not  the  man — an’  the  more  the 
pity,  for  the  sorra  one  of  them  all  so  much  the  gen- 
tleman, nor  will  live  in  sich  style.” 

The  gloom  which  lay  upon  tlie  heart  of  Kathleen 
Cavanagh  was  neither  moody  nor  captious,  but  on 
the  contrary  remarkable  for  a spirit  of  extreme  gen- 
tleness and  placidity.  From  the  moment  she  had 
come  to  the  resolution  of  discarding  M’Mahon,  she 
was  observed  to  become  more  silent  than  she  had 
ever  been,  but  at  the  same  time  her  deportment  was 
characterized  by  a tenderness  towards  the  other 
members  of  the  family  that  was  sorrowful  and  affect- 
ing to  the  last  degree.  Her  sister  Hanna’s  sympa- 
thy was  deep  and  full  of  sorrow.  Xone  of  them, 
however,  knew  her  force  of  character,  nor  the  in- 
roads wliich,  under  guise  of  this  placid  calm,  strong 
grief  was  secretly  making  on  her  health  and  spirits. 
The  paleness,  for  instance,  which  settled  on  her 
cheeks,  when  the  news  of  her  lover’s  apostacy,  as  it 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


393 


was  called,  and  as  she  considered  it,  reached  her, 
never  for  one  moment  hft  it  afterwards,  and  she 
resembled  some  exquisitely  chiselled  statue  moving 
by  machinery,  more  than  anything  else  to  which  vve 
can  compare  lier. 

She  was  sitting  with  Hanna  when  her  father  re- 
turned, after  having  delivered  her  message  to  M’Ma- 
hon.  The  old  man  seemed,  if  one  could  judge  by 
his  features,  to  feel  rather  satisfied,  as  in  fact  was 
the  case,  and  after  having  put  up  his  good  hat,  and 
laid  aside  his  best  coat,  he  said,  I have  delivered 
your  message,  Kathleen,  an’  dear  knows  I’m  glad 
there’s  an  end  to  that  business — it  never  had  my 
warm  heart.” 

“It  always  had  mine,  then,”  replied  Hanna,  “an’ 
I think  we  ought  not  to  judge  our  fellow  creatures 
too  severely,  knowin’  as  we  do  that  there’s  no  such 
thing  as  perfection  in  this  world.  What  the  sorra 
could  have  come  over  him,  or  tempted  him  to  vote 
as  he  did  ? What  did  he  say,  father,  when  you 
brought  him  the  message  ? ” 

“Aftlier  I declared  it,”  replied  her  father,  “ he 
was  struck  dumb,  arid  never  once  opened  his  lips; 
but  if  he  didn’t  spake,  his  sister  Dora  did.” 

“ Ar»’  what  did  she  say — generous  and  spirited 
little  Dora  ! — what  did  she  say,  father?  ” 

He  then  repeated  the  message  as  accurately  as  he 
could — for  the  lionest  old  man  was  imbued  with  too 
conscieniious  a love  for  truth  to  disscuise  or  conceal 
a single  syllable  that  had  been  intrusted  to  him  on 
either  side — “Throth,”  said  he,  “ the  same  Dora  has 
the  use  of  her  tongue  when  she  pleases ; ‘ ax  her,’ 


394 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


said  she,  spakin’  of  Kathleen,  here,  ' if  it’s  either  re- 
ligion or  common  justice  that  makes  her  condemn 
my  brother  without  bearin’  his  defence.  Good-bye, 
now,’  says  she;  ‘give  my  love  to  Hanna,  and  tell 
her  she’s  worth  a ship-load  of  her  stately  sister.’  ” 

“Poor  I>oral”  exclaimed  Hanna,  whilst  the  tears 
came  to  her  eyes,  “ who  can  blame  her  for  defend- 
ing so  good  and  affectionate  a brother  ? Plague  on 
it  for  an  election ! I wish  there  was  no  sich  thing 
in  the  country.” 

“ As  for  me,”  said  Kathleen,  “ I wouldn’t  condemn 
him  without  a hearing,  if  I had  any  doubt  about  his 
conduct,  but  I have  not.  He  voted  for  Vanston — 
that  can’t  be  denied  ; and  proved  himself  to  have  less 
honesty  and  scruple  than  even  that  profligate  Hycy. 
Burke;  and  if  he  made  a bargain  with  Vanston,  as 
is  clear  he  did,  an’  voted  for  him  because  the  other 
got  his  fine  reduced,  why  that  is  worse,  because  then 
he  did  it  knowingly  an’  with  his  eyes  open,  an’  con- 
trary to  his  conscience — ay,  an’  to  his  solemn 
promise  to  myself;  for  I’ll  tell  you  now  what  I 
never  mentioned  before,  that  I put  him  on  his  guard 
against  doing  so  ; and  he  knew  that  if  he  did,  all 
would  and  must  be  over  between  him  and  me.” 

“ Is  that  true,  Kathleen  ? ” said  Hanna  with 
surprise;  “but  why  need  I ask  you  such  a ques- 
tion— it’s  enough  that  you  say  it — in  that  case 
then  I give  him  up  at  last;  but  who,  oh,  who  could 
a’  believed  it  ? ” 

“But  that  is  not  all,”  continued  Kathleen,  in  the 
same  mournfid  and  resigned  tone  of  voice — “ there’s 
the  bribe — didn’t  hundreds  hear  him  acknowledge 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


395 


publicly  ill  the  chapel  that  he  got  it?  What  more 
is  wanting?  How  couM  I ever  respect  a man  that 
lias  proved  himself  to  be  without  either  honesty  or 
principle?  and  why  should  it  happen,  that  the  mari 
who  has  so  openly  and  so  knowingly  disgraced  his 
religion  and  his  name  fall  to  my  lot?  Oh,  no — it 
matters  little  how  I love  him,  and  I grant  that  in 
spite  of  all  that  has  happened  I have  a lingering  af- 
fection for  him  even  yet;  still  1 don’t  think  that  af- 
fection will  live  long — I can  now  neither  respect  nor 
esteem  him,  an’  when  that  is  the  case  I can’t  surely 
continue  long  to  love  him.  I know,”  she  proceeded, 
“that  it’s  not  possible  for  him  ever  to  clear  himself 
of  this  shocking  and  shameful  conduct;  but  lest 
there  might  be  any  chance  of  it,  1 now  say  before 
you  all,  that  if  something  doesn’t  come  about, 
three  months^  that  may  and  ought  to  change  my 
feelings  towards  him,  I’ll  live  afterwards  as  if  I had 
never  known  him.” 

“Mightn’t  you  see  him,  however,  an’ hear  what 
he  has  to  say  for  himself?”  asked  Hanna. 

“No,”  the  other  replied  ; “ he  heard  my  message, 
and  was  silent.  You  may  rest  assured  if  he  had 
anything  to  say  in  his  own  defence,  he  would  have 
said  it,  or  asked  to  see  me.  Oh,  no,  no,  because  I 
feel  that  he’s  defenceless.” 

In  this  peculiar  state  of  circumstances  our  readers 
need  not  feel  surprised  that  every  possible  agency 
was  employed  to  urge  her  beyond  the  declaration 
she  had  made,  and  to  induce  her  to  receive  the  ad- 
dresses of  Edward  Burke.  Pier  own  parents,  old 
Jemmy  Burke,  the  whole  body  of  her  relatives,  each 


S96 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


in  turn,  and  sometimes  several  of  them  together, 
added  to  which  we  may  mention  the  parish  priest, 
who  was  called  in  by  both  families,  or  at  least  by 
old  Jemmy  Burke  and  the  Cavanaghs — all  we  say 
perpetually  assailed  her  on  the  subject  of  a union 
with  Edward  Burke,  and  assailed  her  so  pertina- 
ciously, that  out  of  absolute  apathy,  if  not  despair, 
and  sick  besides  of  their  endless  importunities,  she 
at  last  said — “ If  Edward  Burke  can  be  satisfied 
with  a wife  that  has  no  heart  to  give  him,  or  that 
cannot  love  him,  I don’t  care  much  how  I am  dis- 
posed of  ; he  may  as  well  call  me  wife  as  another, 
and  better,  for  if  I cannot  love,  I can  at  least  respect 
him.” 

These  circumstances,  together  with  the  period  al- 
lowed to  M’Mahon  for  setting  himself  if  possible 
right  with  Kathleen,  in  due  time  reached  his  ears. 
It  soon  appeared,  however,  that  Kathleen  had  not 
all  the  pride — if  pride  it  could  be  called — to  herself, 
M’Mahon,  on  being  made  acquainted  with  what  had 
occurred,  which  he  had  heard  from  his  sister  Dora, 
simply  said — “ Since  she  has  not  afforded  myself  any 
opportunity  of  tellin’  her  the  truth,  I won’t  attempt 
to  undeceive  her.  I will  be  as  proud  as  she  is.  That 
is  all  I say.” 

“And  you  are  right,  Tom,”  replied  Dora,  “ the 
name  of  M’Mahon  mustn’t  be  consarned  with  any- 
thing that’s  mane  or  discreditable.  The  pride  of  our 
old  blood  must  be  kept  up.  Torn;  but  still  when  we 
think  of  what  she’s  sufferin’  we  musn’t  open  our  lips 
against  her.” 

“ Oh,  no,”  he  replied  ; “ I know  that  it’s  neither 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


397 


harshness  nor  weakness,  nor  useless  pride  that  makes 
her  act  as  she’s  doin’,  but  a great  mind  and  a heart 
that’s  full  of  truth,  high  thoughts,  and  such  a love 
for  her  religion  and  its  prosperity  as  I never  saw  in 
any  one.  Still,  Dora,  I’m  not  the  person  tliat 
will  ever  sneak  back  to  entreat  and  plead  at  her 
feet  like  a slave,  and  by  that  means  make  myself 
look  still  worse  in  her  eyes;  I know  very  well  that 
if  I did  so  she’d  despise  me.  God  bless  her,  at  all 
events,  and  make  her  happy  ! that’s  the  worst  I wish 
her.” 

“Amen,”  replied  Dora;  “you  have  said  nothing 
but  the  truth  about  her,  and  indeed  I see,  Tom,  that 
you  know  her  well.” 

Thus  ended  the  generous  dialogue  of  Dora  and 
her  affectionate  brother,  who  after  all  might  have 
been  induced  by  her  to  remain  in  his  native  country 
and  share  whatever  fate  it  miglit  allot  him,  were  it 
not  that  in  a few  days  afterwards,  his  father  found 
that  the  only  terms  on  which  he  could  obtain  his 
farm  were  such  as  could  scarcely  be  said  to  come 
within  the  meaning  and  spirit  of  the  landlord’s  adage, 
“ live  and  let  live.”  It  is  true  that  for  the  terms  on 
which  his  farm  was  offered  him  he  was  indebted  to 
Chevydale  himself,  who  said  that  as  he  knew  his  fa- 
ther had  entertained  a higli  respect  for  old  M’M  ihon, 
he  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  put  out.  The  fatlier 
besides  voted  for  him,  and  always  had  voted  for  tiie 
family.  “Do  what  you  please  with  the  son,”  he 
proceeded — “ get  rid  of  him  as  you  like,  but  I shan’t 
suffer  the  father  to  be  removed.  Let  him  have  the 
farm  upon  reasonable  terms;  and,  by  the  way, 


898 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA; 


Fethertonge,  don’t  you  think  now  it  was  rather  an 
independent  act  of  the  young  fellow  to  vote  for  Van- 
ston,  although  he  knew  that  I had  it  in  my  power  to 
send  him  about  his  business  ? ” 

‘‘It  was  about  as  impudent  a piece  of  ingratitude 
and  defiance  as  ever  1 witnessed/’  returned  the  other. 
“ The  wily  rascal  calculated  upon  your  forbearance 
and  easiness  of  disposition,  and  so  imagined  that  he 
might  do  what  he  pleased  with  impunity.  We  shall 
undeceive  him  however.” 

“ Well,  but  you  forget  that  he  had  soma  cause  of 
displeasure  against  us,  in  consequence  of  having 
neglected  his  memorial  to  the  Co-mmissioners  of 
Excise.” 

“Yes;  but  as  I said  before,  how  could  we  with 
credit  involve  ourselves  in  the  illegal  villany  of  a 
smuggler?  It  is  actually  a discredit  to  have  such  a 
fellow  upon  the  estate.  He  is,  in  the  first  place,  a 
bad  example,  and  calculated  by  his  conduct  and  in- 
fluence to  spread  dangerous  principles  among  the  ten- 
antry. However,  as  it  is,  he  is  fortunately  for  us 
rather  well  known  at  present.  It  is  now  perfectly 
notorious — and  I have  it  from  the  best  authority- — 
one  of  the  parties  who  was  cognizant  of  his  conduct 
— that  his  vote  against  you  was  the  result  of  a de- 
liberate compact  with  our  enemy,  Vanston,  and  that 
he  received  a bribe  of  fifty  pounds  from  him.  This 
he  has  had  the  audacity  to  acknowledge  himself,  be- 
ing the  very  amount  of  the  sum  to  which  the  penalty 
against  him  was  mitigated  by  Vanston’s  interfer- 
ence. In  fact  the  scoundrel  is  already  infamous  in 
the  country.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


399 


“What,  for  receiving  a bribe  ! ” exclaimed  Chevy- 
dale,  looking  at  the  agent  with  a significant  smile  ; 
“and  what,  pray,  is  the  distinction  between  liirn 
who  ffivos  and  him  who  takes  a bribe?  Let  us  look 

o 

at  home  a little,  my  good  Fethertonge,  .and  learn  a 
little  charity  to  those  who  err  as  we  do.  A man 
would  think  now  to  hear  you  attack  M’Mahon  for 
bribery,  that  you  never  had  bribed  a man  in  your 
life;  and  yet  you  know  that  it  is  the  consciousness 
of  bribery  on  our  own  part  that  prevents  us  from 
attempting  to  unseat  Vanston.” 

“ That’s  all  very  true,  I grant  you,”  replied  the 
other;  “ but  in  the  mean  time  we  must  keep  up  ap- 
pearances. The  question,  so  far  as  regards  M’Mahon, 
is — not  so  much  whether  he  is  corrupt  or  not,  as 
whether  he  has  unseated  you;  that  is  the  fatal  |^ct 
against  him ; and  if  we  allow  that  to  pass  without 
making  him  suffer  for  it,  you  will  find  tiiat  on  tiie 
next  election  he  may  have  many  an  imitator,  and 
you  chances  will  not  be  w'orth  much — that’s  all.” 

“ Very  well,  Fethertonge,”  replied  the  indolent,  and 
feeble-minded  man,  “I  leave  him  to  you;  manage 
him  or  punish  him  as  you  like ; but  I do  beg  that 
you  wdll  let  me  hear  no  more  about  him.  Keep  his 
father,  however,  on  the  property;  I insist  on  tl)at; 
he  is  an  honest  man,  for  he  voted  for  me;  keep  him 
on  his  farm  at  reasonable  terms  too,  such, — of  course, 
as  he  can  live  on.” 

The  reasonable  terms  proposed  by  Fethertonge 
were,  however,  such  as  old  Tom  M’Mahon  could  not 
with  any  prospect  of  independence  encounter.  Even 
this,  hownwer,  was  not  to  him  the  most  depressing 


400 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


consideration.  Faith  had  been  wantonly  and  de- 
liberately broken  with  him — the  solemn  words  of  a 
dying  man  had  been  disregarded — and,  as  Fether- 
tonge  bad  made  him  believe,  by  that  son  who  had 
always  professed  to  regard  and  honor  bis  father’s 
memory. 

‘‘  I assure  you,  M’Mahon,”  replied  the  agent,  in 
the  last  interview  he  ever  had  with  him,  I assure 
you  /have  done  all  in  my  power  to  bring  matters 
about ; but  without  avail.  It  is  a painful  thing  to 
have  to  do  with  an  obstinate  man,  M’Mahon ; with 
a man  who,  although  he  seems  quiet  and  easy,  will 
and  must  have  everything  his  own  way.” 

‘‘  Well,  sir,”  replied  M’Mahon,  “ you  know  what 
his  dying  father’s  words  wor  to  me.” 

“ And  more  than  I know  them,  I can  assure  you, 
he  Whispered,  in  a very  significant  voice,  and  with 
a nod  of  the  head  that  seemed  to  say,  “ your  land- 
lord knows  them  as  well  as  I do.  I have  done 
my  duty,  and  communicated  them  to  him,  as  I 
ought.” 

M’Mahon  shook  his  head  in  a melancholy  manner, 
and  said, — 

“Well,  sir,  at  any  rate  I know  the  worst.  I 
couldn’t  now  have  any  confidence  or  trust  in  such  a 
man  ; I could  depend  upon  neither  his  word  or  his 
promise;  I couldn’t  look  upon  him  as  a friend,  for 
he  didn’t  prove  himself  one  to  my  son  when  he  stood 
in  need  of  one.  It’s  clear  that  he  doesn’t  care  about 
the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  his  tenantry;  and  for 
that  raison — or  rather  for  all  these  raisons  put  to- 
gether— I’ll  join  my  son,  and  go  to  a country  where. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


401 


by  all  accounts,  there’s  better  prospects  for  them 
that’s  honest  and  industrious  than  there  is  in  this 
unfortunate  one  of  ours, — where  the  interests  of  the 
people  is  so  much  neglected — neglected!  no,  but 
never  tiiought  of  at  all ! Good-bye,  sir/’  he  added, 
taking  up  his  hat,  whilst  the  features  of  this  sterling 
and  honest  man  were  overcast  with  a solemn  and 
pathetic  spirit,  “ don't  consider  me  any  longer  your 
tenant.  For  many  a long  year  has  our  names  been  — 
but  no  matther — the  time  is  come  at  last,  and  the 
M’Mahou’s  of  Carriglass  and  Ahadarra  will  be  known 
there  no  more.  It  wasn’t  our  fault;  we  wor  willin’ 
to  live — oh ! not  merely  willin’  to  live,  but  anxious 
to  die  there;  but  it  can’t  be.  Good-bye,  sir.”  And 
so  they  parted. 

M’Mahon,  on  his  return  home,  found  Bryan,  who 
now  spent  m.)St  of  his  time  at  Carriglass,  before 
him.  On  entering  the  house  Ids  family,  who  were 
all  assembled,  saw  by  tlie  expression  of  his  face  that 
his  heart  had  been  deeply  moved,  and  was  filled  with 
sorrov\^ 

“Bryan,”  said  he,  “ you  are  right — as  indeed  you 
always  are.  Cldldre’,”  he  proceeded,  “ w^e  must  lave 
the  place  that  we  loved  s > much  ; where  we  have 
lived  for  hundreds  of  years.  This  counthry  isn’t  one 
now  to  prosper  in,  as  I sjid  not  long  since — this  very 
day.  We  must  lave  the  ould  places,  an’  as  I tould 
Fethertonge,  the  M’Mahons  of  Ahadarra  and  Car- 
riglass will  be  the  M’Mahons  of  Ahadarra  and  Car- 
riglass no  more  ; but  God’s  will  be  done!  I must 
look  to  the  intherest  of  you  all,  cldldre’;  but,  God 
help  us,  that’s  what'I  can’t  do  here  for  the  future. 


402 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Every  one  of  sense  and  substance  is  doin’  so,  an’  why 
shouldn’t  we  take  care  of  ourselves  as  well  as  the 
rest?  Wiiat  we  want  here  is  encouragement  and 
fair  play;  hwlfareer  gair^il  isn’t  to  be  had.” 

The  gloom  which  they  read  in  his  countenance 
was  now  explained,  but  this  was  not  all;  it  immedi- 
ately settled  upon  the  other  members  of  the  family 
who  were  immediately  moved, — all  by  sorrow,  and 
some  even  to  tears.  Dora,  who  notwithstanding 
what  her  brother  had  said  wdth  regard  to  his  inten- 
tion of  emigrating,  still  maintained  a latent  hope 
that  he  might  change  his  mind,  and  that  a reconcil- 
iation besides  might  yet  be  brought  about  between 
him  and  Kathleen,  now  went  to  her  father,  and,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
exclaiming  : “ Oh,  father  dear,  don’t  think  of  leav- 

ing this  place,  for  how  could  we  leave  it  ? What 
other  country  could  we  ever  like  as  well  ? and  my 
grandfather — here  he’s  creepin’  in,  sure  he’s  not  the 
same  man  within  the  last  few  months,— oh,  how 
could  you  think  of  bringin’  him,  now  that  he’s  part- 
ly in  his  grave,  an’  he,”  she  added,  in  a whisper  full 
of  compassion,  “ an’  he  partly  dotin’  with  feebleness 
and  age.” 

“Hush!  ” said  her  father,  “ we  must  say  nothing 
of  it  to  him.  That  must  be  kept  asaicret  from  him, 
an’  it’s  likely  he  won’t  notice  the  change.” 

Kitty  then  went  over,  and  laying  her  hand  on  her 
father’s  arm,  said:  “Father,  for  the  love  of  God, 
don’t  take  us  from  Carriglass  and  Ahadarra  : — what- 
ever the  world  has  for  us,  whether  for  good  or  evil, 
let  us  bear  it  here.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


403 


“Father,  you  won’t  bring  us  nor  you  won’t  go,” 
added  Dora  ; “ sure  we  never  could  be  very  misera- 
ble here,  where  we  have  all  been  so  happy.” 

“ Poor  Dora  ! ” said  Bryan,  “ what  a mistake  that 
is  ! I feel  the  contrary  ; for  the  very  happiness  that 
I and  all  of  us  enioyed  here,  now  only  adds  to  what 
I’m  sufferin’.” 

“Childre’,’’  said  the  father,  “our  landlord  has 
broken  his  own  father’s  dyin’  promise — you  all  re- 
member how  full  of  delight  I came  home  to  you  from 
Dublin,  and  how  she  that’s  gone” — he  paused — he 
covered  Ids  face  wiih  his  open  hands,  through  which 
the  tears  were  seen  to  trickle.  Tiiis  allusion  to  their 
beloved  mother  was  too  much  for  them.  Artliur  and 
Michael  sat  in  silence,  not  knowing  exactly  upon 
what  grounds  their  father  had  formed  a resolution, 
which,  when  proposed  to  him  by  Bryan,  appeared 
to  be  one  to  which  his  heart  could  never  lend  its 
sanction.  No  sooner  was  their  mother  named,  how- 
ever, than  they  too  became  deeply  moved,  and  when 
Kitty  and  Dora  both  rushed  with  an  outcry  of  sor- 
row to  tlieir  father,  exclaiming,  Oh,  father  dear, 
think  of  her  that’s  in  the  clay — for  her  sake,  change 
your  mind  and  don’t  take  us  to  where  we  can 
never  weep  a tear  over  her  blessed  grave,  nor  ever 
kneel  over  it  to  ofier  a prayer  within  her  bearin’  for 
her  soul ! ” 

“ Ciiildre’,”  he  exclaimed,  wiping  away  his  tears 
that  had  indeed  flowed  in  all  the  bitterness  of  grief 
and  undeserved  affliction;  “childre’,”  he  replied, 
“ you  must  be  manly  now  ; it’s  because  I love  you 
an’  feels  anxious  to  keep  you  from  beggary  and  sor- 


401 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


row  at  a future  time,  and  destitution  and  distress, 
such  as  we  see  among  so  many  about  us  every  day 
in  the  w^eek,  that  I’ve  made  up  my  mind  togo.  Our 
landlord  won’t  give  us  our  tarm  barrin’at  a rent  that 
’ud  bring  us  down  day  by  day,  to  poverty  and  dis- 
tress, like  too  many  of  our  neighbors.  We  have 
yet  some  ihrifle  o’  money  left,  as  much  as  will,  by  all 
accounts,  enable  us  to  take — I mane  to  purchase  a 
farm  in  America — an’  isn’t  it  betther  for  us  to  go 
there,  and  be  independent,  no  matther  what  it  may 
cost  our  hearts  to  suffer  by  d«»in’  so,  than  to  stay 
here  until  the  few  hundre’  that  I’ve  got  together  is 
melted  aw^ay  out  of  my  pocket  into  the  pocket  of  a 
landlord  that  never  wanst  th roubles  himselt’  to  krmw 
liow  w e’re  gettin’  on,  or  whether  we’re  doin’  well  or 
ill.  Then  think  of  his  conduct  to  Bryan, there;  how 
he  neglected  him,  and  woulddet  him  go  to  ruin  wid- 
out  ever  movin’  a finger  to  save  him  Irom  it.  No, 
childre’,  undher  sich  a man  I won’t  stay.  Prepare 
yourselves,  then,  to  lave  this.  In  biddin’  you  to  do 
so,  I’m  actin’  for  the  best  towards  you  all.  I’m  doin’ 
my  duty  by  you,  and  I expect  for  timt  raison,  an’  as 
obedient  childre’ — which  I’ve  ever  found  you — that 
you’ll  do  your  duty  by  me,  ari’  give  no  further  op- 
position to  what  I’m  prop  ^sin’  for  your  sakes.  I 
know  you’re  all  loath — an’  you  wdll  be  loath — to 
lave  this  place  ; but  do  you  think? — do  you  ? — that 
I — I — oh,  my  God  ! — do  yon  think,  I say,  that  I’ll 
feel  nothing  when  w^e  go?  Oh  ! little  you  know  of 
me  if  you  tliink  so;  but,  as  I said,  we  must  do  our 
duty.  We  see  our  neighbors  failin’  away  into  pov- 
erty, and  distress,  and  destitution  day  by  day,  and 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


405 


if  we  remain  in  tins  unfortunate  country,  we  must 
only  folly  in  their  tracks,  an’  belore  long  be  as  mis- 
erable and  helpless  as  tliey  are.” 

His  family  were  forced  to  admit  the  melancholy 
truth  and  strong  sense  of  all  he  had  uttered,  and, 
although  the  resolution  to  which  he  had  come  was 
one  of  bitterness  arid  sorrow  to  them  all,  yet  from 
a principle  of  alFeclion  and  duty  towards  him,  they 
felt  that  any  opposition  on  their  part  would  have 
been  unjustifiable  and  wrong. 

“But,  sure,”  the  old  man  proceeded,  “there’s 
more  than  I’ve  mentioned  yet,  to  send  us  away. 
Look  at  poor  Bryan,  there,  how  he  was  nearly  ruin- 
ed by  the  villany  of  some  cowardly  scoundrel,  or 
scoundrels,  who  set  up  a still  upon  his  farm  ; that’s 
a black  business,  like  many  another  black  business 
that’s  a disgrace  to  the  country — an  inoffensive 
young  man,  that  never  made  or  did  anything  to 
make  an  enemy  for  himself  durin’  his  whole  life  ! 
An’  another  thing,  bekaise  he  voted  for  the  man 
that  saved  him  from  destruction,  as  he  ought  to  do, 
an’  as  I’m  proud  he  did  do,  listen  now  to  the  black- 
guard outcry  that’s  against  him;  ay, and  by  a crew 
of  vagabonds  that  ’ud  sell  Christ  himself,  let  alone 
their  country,  or  their  religion,  if  they  were  bribed 
by  Protestant  goold  for  it ! Throth  I’m  sick  of  the 
counthry  and  the  people ; for  instead  of  gettin’  bet- 
ther  it’s  worse  they’re  gettin’  every  day.  Make  up 
your  minds  then,  cldldre’ ; there's  a curse  on  the 
counthry.  Many  o'  the  landlords  are  bad  enough, 
too  bad,  and  too  neglectful,  God  knows  ; but  sure 
the  people  themselves  is  as  bad,  an’  as  senseless  on 


406 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


the  other  hand;  aren’t  they  blinded  so  much  by 
their  bad  feelins,  and  short-sighted  passions,  that  it 
is  often  the  best  landlords  they  let  out  their  revenge 
upon.  Prepare  then,  cliildre’ ; for  out  of  the  con n- 
thry,  or  at  any  rate  from  among  the  people,  tlie 
poverty  and  the  misery  that’s  in  it,  wid  God’s  assist- 
ance, we’ll  go  while  we’re  able  to  do  so.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


407 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MYSTERY  AMONG  THE  HOGANS — FINIGAN  DEFENDS 
THE  ABSENT. 

The  three  Hogansa,  whom  we  have  lost  sight  of 
for  some  time,  were,  as  our  readers  already  know, 
three  most  unadulterated  ruffians,  in  every  sense  of 
that  most  respectable  term.  Yet,  singular  as  it  may 
appear,  notwithstanding  their  savage  brutality, 
they  were  each  and  all  possessed  of  a genius  for  me- 
'I  chanical  inventions  and  manual  dexterity  that  was 
perfectly  astonishing  when  the  low  cliaracter  of  their 
moral  and  intellectual  standard  is  considered.  Kate 
Hogan,  who  from  her  position  could  not  possibly  be 
kept  out  of  their  secrets,  at  least  for  any  length  of 
time,  was  forced  to  notice  of  late  that  there  was  a 
much  closer  and  more  cautious  intimacy  between 
Hycy  Burke  and  them,  than  she  had  ever  observed 
before.  She  remarked  besides,  that  not  only  was 
Teddy  Phats  excluded  from  their  counsels,  but  she 
herself  was  sent  out  of  the  way,  whenever  Hycy 
paid  them  a visit,  which  uniformly  occurred  at  a 
late  hour  in  the  night. 

Another  circumstance  also  occurred  about  this 
time  which  puzzled  her  not  a little,  we  mean  the  un- 
usual absence  of  Philip  for  about  a fortnight  from 
home.  Now,  there  certainly  is  nothing  more  offen- 
sive, especially  to  a female,  than  the  fact  of  exclud- 
ing her  from  the  knowledge  of  any  secret,  a partici- 


408 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


pation  in  which  she  may  consider  as  a right.  In 
her  case  she  felt  that  it  argued  want  of  confidence, 
and  as  she  had  never  yet  betrayed  any  trust  or  se- 
cret reposed  in  her,  she  considered  their  conduct  to- 
wards her,  not  merely  as  an  insult,  but  such  as  en- 
titled them  to  nothing  at  her  hands  but  resentment, 
and  a determination  to  thwart  their  plans,  whatever 
they  might  be,  as  soon  as  she  should  succeed  in 
making  herself  acquainted  with  them.  What  excit- 
ed her  resentment  tlie  more  bitterly  was  the  arrival 
of  a straiige  man  and  woman  in  company  with  Phi- 
lip, as  she  was  able  to  collect,  from  the  metropolis, 
to  the  former  of  whom  they  all  seemed  to  look  with 
much  defei'ence  as  to  a superior  spirit.  Of  the  se-*^ 
cret  among  them,  this  man  and  his  wife  were  clearly 
in  possession,  as  was  evident  from  their  whisperings 
and  other  conversations,  which  they  held  apart,  and 
uniformly  out  of  her  hearing.  It  is  true,  the  stran- 
gers did  not  reside  with  the  Hogans,  but  in  a small 
cabin  adjacent  to  that  in  w'hich  Finigan  taught  his 
school.  Much  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  was  ho- 
nest Teddy  Phats,  whom  they  had  now  also  aban- 
doned, or  rather  completely  cast  off,  and  what  was 
still  worse,  deprived  of  the  whole  aparatus  for  dis- 
tillation, which  although  purchased  by  Hycy  Burke’s 
money,  they  very  modestlty  appropriated  to  them- 
selves. Teddy,  however,  as  well  as  Kate,  knew 
that  they  were  never  cautious  without  good  reason, 
and  as  it  had  pleased  them  to  cut  him,  as  the  phrase 
goes,  so  did  he  as  Kate  had  done,  resolve  within 
jjitnself  to  penetrate  their  secret,  if  human  ingenuity 
could  effect  it. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


409 


In  tins  position  they  wore,  when  honest  Philip  re- 
turned, as  we  have  said,  after  a fortnight’s  absence, 
from  suine  place  or  places  unknown.  The  mystery, 
liowever,  did  not  end  liere.  Kate  observed,  tliat  as 
before,  much  of  their  conversation  was  held  aloof 
from  her,  or  in  such  enigmatical  phrases  and  whis- 
perings, as  rendered  the  substance  of  it  perfectly  in- 
scrutable to  her.  She  observed,  besides,  that  two  of 
tliem  were  frequently  absent  from  the  kiln  where 
they  lived;  but  that  one  always  remained  at  home 
to  make  certain  that  she  should  not  follow  or  dog 
them  to  the  haunt  they  frequented.  This  precau- 
tion oil  their  part  was  uniform.  As  it  was,  how- 
ever, Kate  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, no  one  could  exhibit  a more  finished  appear- 
ance of  stupid  indifference  than  she  assumed  upon 
these  occasions,  even  although  she  knew  by  the  re- 
moval of  the  tools  or  a portion  of  them,  that  her 
friends  were  engaged  in  some  business  belonging  to 
their  craft.  In  this  manner,  matters  proceeded 
for  some  weeks  subsequent  to  the  period  of  Philip’s 
return. 

Kate  also  observed  with  displeasure,  that,  among 
all  those  who  joined  in  the  outcry  against  Bryan 
M’Mahon,  none  made  his  conduct,  sucli  as  it  was 
conceived  to  have  been,  a subje  ct  of  more  brutal 
and  bitter  triumph  than  the  Hogans.  The  only 
circumstance  connected  with  him  which  grieved 
them  to  the  heart,  was  the  fact  that  the  distillation 
plot  had  not  ruined  him  as  they  expected  it  would 
have  done.  His  disgrace,  however,  and  unjust  eject- 
ment from  Ahadarra  filled  them  with  that  low,  ruf- 
18 


410 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


fianly  sense  of  exultation,  than  which,  coming  from 
such  scoundrels,  there  is  scarcely  anything  more 
detestable  in  human  nature. 

One  evening  about  this  time  they  were  sitting 
about  the  fire,  the  three  brothers,  Kate,  and  the 
young  un licked  savages  of  the  family,  when 
Philip,  after  helping  himself  to  a glass  of  spirits, 
said, — 

“ At  any  rate,  there'll  be  no  match  between  Miss 
Kathleen  and  that  vagabond,  Bryan  M’Mahon.  I 
think  we  helped  to  put  a nail  in  his  coffin  there,  by 
gob.” 

“ Ay,”  said  Kate,  “ an’  you  may  boast  of  it,  you 
unmanly  vagabone ; an’  yet  3^011  purtind  to  have  a 
regard  for  the  poor  girl,  an’  a purty  way  you  tuck 
to  sliow  it — to  have  lier  as  she  is,  goin’  about  wid  a 
pale  face  an’  a broken  heart.  Don’t  you  see 
it’s  her  more  than  him  you’re  punishin’,  you  sav- 
age of  hell  ? ” 

“ You  had  betther  keep  your  tongue  off  o’  me,” 
he  replied;  “I  won’t  get  into  grips  wid  you  any 
more,  you  barge  o’  blazes;  but,  if  you  provoke  me 
wid  bad  language.  I’ll  give  you  a clink  wid  one 
o’  these  sotherin’-irons  that’ll  put  a clasp  on  your 
tongue.” 

‘‘Never  attempt  that,”  she  replied  fiercely,  “ for, 
as  sure  as  you  do.  I’ll  have  this  knife,”  showing  him 
a large,  sharp  pointed  one,  which,  in  accordance 
wMth  the  customs  of  her  class,  hung  by  a black  belt 
of  strong  leather  from  her  side — “ I’ll  have  this  cus- 
tomer here  greased  in  your  puddins.  my  buck, 
and,  when  the  win’s  out  o’  you,  see  what  you’ll  be 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


411 


worth  -fit  for  Captain  James's  hounds;  although  I 
dunna  hut  tiie  very  dogs  themselves  is  too  clane 
to  ait  you.” 

Cotne,”  said  Bat,  ‘‘we'll  have  no  more  o’  this;  do 
you  Philip,  keep  quiet  wid  your  sotherln'-iron,  and, 
as  fi;r  you.  Kale,  don't  dhravv  me  upon  you;  na  han 
an  shin — it  isn’t  Pliilip  you  have.  I say  I'm 
rigiit  well  plaised  that  we  helped  to  knock  up  the 
match.” 

“Don’t  be  too  sure,”  replied  Kate,  “that  it  is 
knocki'd  up;  don't  now,  mind  my  words;  an’  take 
cire  that,  instead  of  knockin’  it  up,  you  haven’t 
knocked  yourselves  down.  Chew  your  cud  upon 
that  now.” 

“What  does  she  mane?”  asked  Ked,  looking  on 
her  with  a baleful  glance,  in  which  might  be  read 
equal  ferocily  and  alarm. 

“Why,  traichery,  of  coorse,”  replied  Philip,  in  his 
deep,  glowing  voice.  “ Kate,”  said  her  husband, 
starting  into  something  like  an  incipient  fit  of  fury, 
but  suddenly  checking  himself — “Kate,  my  hooey, 
what  do  you  mane  by  them  words?” 

“ What  do  I mane  by  them  words?”  she  exclaim- 
ed, with  an  eye  which  turned  on  hitn  with  cool  de- 
fiance ; “ pick  that  out  o’  your  lamin’,  Bat,  my  pet. 
You  can  all  ke  p your  saicrets ; an’  111  let  you  know 
that  I can  keep  mine.” 

“Be  the  holy  St.  Lucifer,”  sai<l  her  husband,  “if 
I wanst  thought  that  thraichery  ’ud  enter  your  head, 
Pd  take  good  care  that  it’s  in  hell  youd  wak»*n  some 
fine  mornin’  afore  long.  So  mind  yourself,  Kate, 
my  hon  y.” 


412 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“Are  you  in  nobody  elst^’s  power  but  mine  ? ” she 
replied,  “ax  yourselves  that — an’  now  d > you  mind 
yourself,  Bar,  my  p=  t,  and  all  o’  yez.” 

“ What  is  the  raison,  ’ asked  her  husband,  “ that  I 
see  you  an'  Nanny  Peety’-  colloguin’  an’  huggermug- 
gerin’  so  often  together  of  late?” 

“ Ah,’’  she  replied,  with  a toss  of  disdain,  “ what 
a manly  fellow  you  are  to  want  to  get  into  women’s 
saicrets ! you  tnay  save  your  breath  thongli.” 

“ Whatever  you  collogue  about,  all  I say  is,  that 
I don’t  like  a bone  in  the  same  Nanny  Peety’s  body. 
She  has  an  eye  in  her  head  that  looks  as  if  it  knew 
one’s  thoughts.” 

“An’  maybe  it  does.  One  thing  T know,  and 
ev«  ry  one  knows  it,  that  it’s  a very  purty  eye.” 

“Tell  her,  then,  to  keep  out  o’  this;  we  want  no 
spies  here.’ 

“ Divil  a word  of  it ; she’s  my  niece,  an’  the  king’s 
highw^ay  is  as  free  to  her  as  it  is  to  you  or  anybody 
else.  She’ll  be  welcome  to  me  any  time  she  comes, 
an’  let  me  see  who’ll  dare  to  mislist  her.  She  feels 
as  she  ought  to  do,  an’  as  every  woman  ought  to  do, 
ay,  an’  every  man,  too,  that  is  a man,  or  anything  but 
a bi  nte  an’  a emw^ard — slie  feels  for  that  unfortunate, 
heart-broken  girl  ’iihout;  an’  it’ll  be  a strange  thing 
if  them  that  brought  her  to  what  she’s  sufferin’  won’t 
suffer  tiiernselves  y’et ; tliere’s  a God  above  still,! 
hope,  glory  be  to  His  nau)e  ! Thraichery  ! ” she  ex- 
claimed ; “ah,  you  ill-rnirnh'd  vill  tins,  it’s  yourselves 
you’re  thinkin’  of,  an’  what  you  desarve.  As  for 
myself,  it’s  neither  you  nor  your  villainy  that’s  in 
my  head,  but  the  sorrowful  heart  that’s  in  that  poor 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


413 


girl  ’itlioiit — av,  an’  a broken  one;  for,  indeeil,  bro- 
ked  it  is;  and  it’s  not  long  she’ll  be  troublin’  either 
friend  or  foe  in  this  world.  Tiie  curse  o’ glory  upon 
you  all,  you  villains,  and  upon  every  one  that  l)ad  a 
hand  in  bringin’  her  to  this!  ” 

llaviiiLT  uttered  these  words,  she  put  her  cloak  and 
bonnet  upon  her,  and  left  the  house,  adding  as  she 
went  out,  “if  it’s  any  pleasure  to  you  to  know  it, 
I’ll  tell  you.  I’m  goi<i’  to  meet  Nancy  Feety  tids 
minute,  an’  you  never  seen  sich  colloguin’  an’  hug- 
germuiTgerin’  as  we’ll  have,  plaise  goodness — ah, 
you  ill-thinkin’,  skulkin’  villains  ! ” 

Kale  Hogan,  though  a tigress  when  provoked, 
and  a hardened,  reckless  creature,  scarcely  remarka- 
ble for  any  parti(3ular  virtue  that  could  be  enumera- 
ted, and  formidable  from  that  savage  strength  and 
intrepidity  for  which  she  was  so  well  known,  was 
yet  not  merely  touched  by  the  sufferings  of  Kath- 
leen Cavanagh,  but  absolutely  took  an  interest  in 
them,  at  once  so  deep  and  full  of  sympathy,  as  to 
affect  her  temper  and  disturb  lier  peace  of  mind. 
Notwithstanding  her  character  she  was  still  a wo- 
man ; and,  in  matters  involving  the  happiness  of  an 
innocent  and  beautiful  creature  of  her  own  sex,  who 
had  been  so  often  personally  kind  to  herself,  and 
whose  family  were  protectors  and  benefactors  to  her 
and  her  kindred,  she  felt  as  a woman.  Though 
coarse  mifjded  upon  most  many  matters,  she  was  yet 
capable  of  making  the  humane  distinction  which 
her  brutal  relatives  could  not  understand  or  feel ; — 
we  mean  the  fact  that,  in  having  lent  themselves  to 
the  base  conspiracy  planned  and  concocted  by  Hycy 


414 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Burke,  and  in  having  been  undoubtedly  the  cause  of 
M‘M  ihon’s  disgrace,  as  well  as  of  his  projected  mar- 
riage with  Kathleen  having  been  broken  up,  they 
did  not  perceive  that  she  was  equally  a sufferer;  or, 
if  they  did,  they  were  either  too  cunning  or  too 
hardened  to  acknowledge  it.  For  this  particular 
circumstance,  Kate,  inasmuch  as  it  involved  deep 
ingratitude  on  their  part,  could  not  at  all  forgive 
them. 

At  this  time,  indeed,  the  melancholv  position  of 
Kathleen  Cavanagh  was  one  which  excited  profound 
and  general  sorrow;  and  just  in  proportion  as  this 
was  sincere,  so  was  the  feelirjg  of  indignation  against 
him  whose  corruption  and  want  of  principle  were 
supposed  to  have  involved  her  in  their  consequences. 
Two  months  or  better  of  the  period  allotted  by 
Kathleen  to  the  vindication  of  his  character,  had 
now  elapsed,  and  yet  nothing  had  been  done  to  set 
himself  right  either  with  her  or  the  world.  She  con- 
sequently  argued,  and  with  ap[)arent  reason,  that 
everything  in  the  shape  of  justification  was  out  of 
Ins  power,  and  this  reflection  ordy  deepened  her  af- 
fliction. Yes,  it  dee}>ened  her  affliction;  but 
it  did  not  on  that  account  succeed  in  enabling 
her  to  obliterate  his  image  the  more  easily 
from  her  heart.  The  fact  was,  that  despite  the  force 
and  variety  of  the  rumors  that  were  abroad  against 
him — and  each  succeeding  week  brought  in  some 
fresh  instance  of  his  duplicity  aiid  profligacy,  thanks 
to  the  ingenious  and  fertile  malignity  of  Ilycy  the 
accomplished — despite  of  this,  and  despite  of  all,  the 
natural  reaction  of  her  heart  had  set  in  — their  past 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


415 


endearments,  their  confidence,  their  tenderness,  tlieir 
love,  now  began,  after  the  first  veliernent  expression 
of  pride  and  high  principle  had  exhausted  the  offen- 
ded mind  of  its  indignation,  to  gradually  resume 
their  influence  o\er  her.  A review,  besides,  of  her 
own  conduct  towards  her  lover  was  by  no  means 
satisfactory  to  her.  Whilst  she  could  not  certainly 
but  condemn  him,  slie  felt  as  if  she  had  judged  him 
upo?i  a pi  inciple  at  once  too  cold  and  rigorous.  In- 
deed, now  that  a portion  of  time  had  enabled  her 
mind  to  cool,  she  could  scarcely  understand  why  it' 
was  that  she  had  passed  so  harsh  a sentence  U[) on 
him.  She  was  not,  however,  capable  of  analyzing 
her  own  mind  and  feelings  upon  the  occasion,  or  she 
might  have  known  that  her  severity  towards  the 
man  was  the  consequence,  on  her  part,  of  that  innate 
scorn  and  indignation  which  pure  and  lofty  minds 
naturally  entertain  against  everything  disiionorable 
and  base,  and  that  it  is  a very  difficult  thing  to  dis- 
sociate the  crime  from  the  criminal,  even  in  cases 
where  the  latter  may  have  had  a strong  hold  upon 
the  affections  of  such  a nobhi  nature.  Nay,  the 
very  fact  of  finding  that  one’s  affections  have  been 
fixed  upon  a person  capable  of  such  di-honor,  pro- 
duces a double  portion  of  indignation  at  the  discov- 
ery of  their  profligacy,  because  it  supposes,  in  the 
first  {)lace,  that  sometliing  like  imposture  must  have 
been  practised  upon  us  in  s^'curing  our  affections,  or 
what  is  still  more  degradifig,  that  we  must  have  been 
materially  devoid  of  common  penetration,  or  we 
could  not  have  suffered  ourselves  to  become  the  dupe 
of  craft  and  dissimulation. 


416 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Our  high-minded  heroine,  however,  had  no  other 
theory  upon  the  subject  of  her  own  f eiing-^,  than 
that  she  loved  her  religion  and  its  pivcepts,  ami  de- 
tested every  word  il»at  was  at  variance  with  truth, 
and  every  act  inconsistent  with  honesty  and  that 
faithful  integrity  which  resists  temptation  and  cor- 
ruption in  whatever  plausible  shapes  they  may  ap- 
proach it. 

B."  this,  however,  as  it  may,  she  now  found  that, 
as  time  advanced,  her  heart  begin  to  fall  into  its 
original  habits.  Tlie  tumult  occasioned  by  the  shock 
resulting  from  her  lover’s  want  of  integrity,  had  now 
nearly  passed  away,  and  tlie  affection  of  tlie  woman 
began  to  supersede  the  severity  of  the  judge.  By 
degrees  she  was  enabled,  as  we  have  said,  to  look 
back  upon  her  conduct,  and  to  judge  of  her  lover 
through  the  more  softened  medium  of  her  reviving 
affection.  This  feeling  gained  upon  her  slowly  but 
surely,  until  her  conscience  became  alarmed  at  tiie 
excess  of  her  own  severity  towards  him.  S'ill,  how- 
ever, she  would  occasionally  return,  as  it  were,  to  a 
contemplation  of  his  delinquency,  and  endeavor  from 
an  unconscious  principle  of  self-love,  to  work  herself 
up  into  that  lofty  liatred  of  dishonor  which  had 
prompted  his  condemnation ; but  the  eff  -rt  was  in 
vain.  Every  siK^cessive  review  of  his  guilt  was  at- 
tended by  a consciousness  that  she  had  been  righte- 
ous overmuch,  and  that  the  consequences  of  his 
treason,  even  against  their  common  religion,  were 
not  only  rapidly  diminishing  in  her  heart,  but  yield- 
ing to  something  that  very  nearly  resembled  re- 


morse. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAPARRA. 


41T 


Such  was  the  state  of  her  feelings  on  tiie  day  when 
Kate  Hogan  and  her  male  relatives  indulge(i  in  the 
friendly  and  afieclioiute  dialogue  we  have  just  de- 
tailed. Her  heart  was  smitten  in  fact  with  sorrow 
for  the  harsh  part  slie  iiad  taken  against  her  lover, 
and  she  only  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  pour  otit 
a full  confession  of  all  she  felt  into  the  friendly  ear 
of  her  sister. 

Gerald  Cavanagh’s  family  at  this  period  was 
darkened  by  a general  spirit  of  depression  and  gloom. 
Their  brother  James,  from  whatever  cause  it  may 
have  proceeded,  seemed  to  be  nearly  as  much  cast 
down  as  his  sister;  and  were  it  not  that  Cavanagh 
himself  and  his  wife  sustained  themselves  by  a hope 
that  Kathleen  might  ultimately  relax  so  far  as  to  ad- 
mit, as  she  had  partly  promised  to  do,  the  proposals 
of  Edward  Burke,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
find  so  much  suffering  apart  from  death  under  the 
same  roof. 

On  the  day  in  question,  our  friend  O’Finigan, 
whose  habits  of  inte/nperance  had  by  no  means  di- 
minished, called  at  Cavanagh’s,  as  he  had  been  in 
the  haV>it  rj  doing.  Poor  Kathleen  was  now  suffer- 
ing, besides,  ufuler  the  consequences  of  the  injunction 
not  to  mention  M'Mahords  name,  which  she  had  im- 
posed upon  her  own  family — an  injuncti-m  which 
they  had  ever  since  faithfully  observed.  It  was 
quite  evid^mt  from  the  unusiially  easy  fluermy  of 
O'Finigan’s  manner,  tliat  he  had  not  confined  his 
beverages,  during  the  day,  to  rn^^re  water.  Hanna, 
on  seeing  him  enter,  said  to  Kathleen,  in  a whis- 
per,— 


418 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


‘‘Hadn’t  you  better  come  out  and  take  a walk, 
Kathleen  ? This  O’Fiuigan  is  almost  tipsy,  and  you 
know  he’ll  be  talking  about  certain  subjects  you 
don’t  wish  to  hear.” 

“Time  enough,  dear  Hanna,”  she  replied,  with  a 
sorrowful  look  at  her  sister,  “ my.  heart  is  so  full  of 
suffering  and  pain  that  almost  anything  will  relieve 
it.  You  know  I was  always  amused  by  Finigan’s 
chat.” 

Her  sister,  who  had  not  as  yet  been  made  acquaint- 
ed with  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  her 
heart,  on  hearing  these  words  looked  at  her  closely, 
and  smiled  sorrowfully,  but  in  such  a manner  as  if 
she  had  at  that  moment  experienced  a sensation  of 
pleasure,  if  not  of  hope.  Hitherto  whenever  a neigh- 
bor or  stranger  came  in,  Kathleen,  fearing  that  the 
forbidden  name  might  become  the  topic  of  conversa- 
tion, always  retired,  eitlier  to  another  room  or  left 
the  house  altogether,  in  order  to  relieve  her  own 
family  from  the  painful  predicament  in  which  their 
promise  of  silence  to  her  had  placed  them.  On  this 
occasion,  however,  Hanna  perceived  with  equal  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  that  she  kept  lier  ground. 

“ Sit  ye,  merry  jinteels  !”  said  Finigan,  as  he  en- 
tered; “I  hope  I see  you  all  in  good  health  and 
spirits;  I hope  I do;  although  I am  afraid  if  what 
fame — an’  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Cavaiiagh,  my  classi- 
cality  tells  me,  that  the  poet  Maro  blundered  like  a 
Hibernian,  when  he  made  the  same  fame  a trumpeter, 
in  wliich,  wid  the  exception  of  one  point,  he  was 
completely  out  of  keeping.  There’s  not  in  all  lithe- 
rature  another  instance  of  a female  trumpeter;  and 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


419 


for  sound  raisons— if  the  fair  sex  were  to  get  posses- 
sion of  the  luba,  God  help  the  world,  lor  it  would 
soon  be  a noisy  one.  flowever,  let  me  reeolleet  my- 
self— where  was  I?  Oh!  ay — I am  afraid  that  if 
what  fame  says — an’  by  the  way,  her  trumpet  must 
have  been  a speaking  one — be  true,  that  there’s  a fair 
individual  here  whose  spirits  are  not  of  the  most  ex- 
alted character  ; and  indeed,  and  as  I am  the  noblest 
work  of  God — an  honest  man — I feel  sorry  to  hear 
the  fact.” 

The  first  portion  of  this  address,  we  need  scarcely 
say,  was  the  only  part  of  it  which  was  properly  un- 
derstood, if  we  except  a word  or  two  at  the  close. 

“God  save  you,  Mistlier  Finigan.” 

“ O Finigan,  it  you  plase,  Mrs.  Cavanagh.” 

“ Well, Well,”  she  replied,  “ O'Finigan, since  it  must 
be  so  ; but  in  troth  I can’t  always  remember  it, 
Misther  Finigan,  in  regard  that  you  didn’t  always 
stand  out  for  it  yourself.  Is  there  any  news  stirrin’, 
you  that’s  abroad  V” 

“ Not  exactly  news,  ma’am  ; but  current  reports 
that  are  now  no  novelty.  The  M’Mahons — ” 

“ Oh,  never  mind  them^'*  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavanagh, 
glancing  at  her  daughter,  “if  you  have  any  other 
news  let  us  hear  it — pass  over  the  M’Mahons — they’re 
not  worth  our  talk,  at  least  some  o’  them.’ 

“ Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Cavanagh  if  Achilles  at  the 
head  of  his  myrmidons  was  to  inform  me  to  that  ef- 
fect, I’d-tell  him  he  liad  mistaken  his  customer.  My 
pritjciple,  ma’am — and  ’tis  one  I glory  in — is  to  de- 
fend ihe  absent  in  gineral,  for  it  is  b uh  charitable 
and  ginerous  to  do  so — in  gineral,  I say ; but  when 


420 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


I know  that  they  are  unjustly  aspersed,  T contera- 
plaie  it  as  an  act  of  duty  on  my  part  to  vindicate 
tliem.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Mrs.  Cavanagh,  “ that’s  ali  very 
right  an’  thrue,  Mr.  Finigan.” 

“It  is,  Mr.  Finig — O’Finigan,”  observed  James 
Cavanagh,  who  was  present,  “ and  your  words  are  a 
credit  and  an  honor  to  you.” 

“ Thanks,  James,  for  the  compliment;  for  it  is  but 
truth.  The  scandal  1 say  (he  proceeded  without 
once  regarding  the  bint  thrown  out  by  Mrs.  Cava- 
nagli)  which  has  been  so  studiously  disseminated 
against  Bryan  M’Mahon — spare  your  nods  and  winks, 
Mrs.  Cavanagh,  for  if  you  winked  at  me  with  as  many 
eyes  as  Argus  had,  and  nodded  at  me  wid  as  many 
beads  as  Hydra,  or  that  baste  in  the  lievelayiions. 
I’d  not  suppress  a syllable  of  truth  ; — no,  ma’am,  the 
suppressio  verVs  no  I mbit  of  mine;  and  I say  and  as- 
sert—ay,  and  asseverate^ — that  that  honest  and  high- 
spirited  young  man,  named  Bryan  or  Bernard  M Ma- 
hon, is  the  victim  of  villany  and  falsehood — ay,  of 
devilish  hatred  and  ingenious  but  cowardly  vitupe- 
ration.” 

“Kathleen,”  whispered  her  sister,  “ will  you  come 
out,  darlin’?  this  talk  must  be  painful  to  you.” 

Kathleen  gave  her  a look  of  such  mingled  sorrow 
and  entreaty  as  went  to  l»er  h(*art.  Hanna.,  whose 
liead  had  bi  en  lovingly  reclining  on  her  sister's 
bosom,  pressed  her  gently  but  affectionately  to  her 
heart,  and  made  no  reply. 

“You  wor  always  a friend  of  his,”  replied  Mrs. 
Cavanagh,  “ an’  of  course  you  spake  as  a friend.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


421 


Yes,”  said  Finigan,  “I  always  was  a friend  of* 
his,  because  I always  knew  his  honesty,  his  love  of 
truth,  his  hatred  of  a mane  action,  ay,  and  his  gene- 
rosity and  courage.  I knew  him  from  the  very  egg, 
I may  say — ab  ovo — Mrs.  Cavanagh  ; it  was  I in- 
stilled his  first  principles  into  him.  Oh  ! I know 
well ! I never  had  a scholar  I was  so  proud  out  of. 
Hycy  Burke  was  smart,  quick,  and  cunning;  but 
then  he  was  traicherous — something  of  a coward 
when  he  had  his  match — strongly  additted  to  fiction 
in  most  of  his  narratives,  and  what  was  still  a worse 
point  about  him,  he  had  the  infamous  ingenuity, 
whenever  he  had  a point  to  gain — such  as  belying  a 
boy  and  taking  away  his  characiher — of  making  truth 
di>charge  all  the  blackguard  duties  of  falsehood. 
Oh  ! I know  them  both  well!  But  who  among  all  [ 
ever  enlightened  wid  instruction  was  the  boy  tliat 
always  tould  the  truth,  even  when  it  went  against 
himself? — why,  Bryan  M’Mahoh.  Who  ever  de- 
fended the  absent? — why,  Bryan  M’Alahon.  Who 
ever  and  always  took  the  part  of  the  weak  and  de- 
fenceless against  the  strong  and  tyrannical? — why, 
Bryan  M’Mahon.  Who  fought  for  his  religion,  too, 
when  the  young  heretics  used  to  turn  it,  or  try  to 
turn  it,  into  ridicule — ay,  and  when  cowardly  and 
traicherous  Hycy  used  to  sit  quietly  by,  and  either 
put  the  insult  in  his  pocket,  or  curry  favor  wid  the 
young  sneering  vagabonds  that  abused  it  ? And 
yet,  at  the  time  Hycy  was  a thousand  times  a great- 
er little  bigot  than  Bryan.  The  one,  whi  a juvenile 
rabble  at  his  back,  three  to  one,  was  a tyrant  over 
the  young  scisraalics;  whilst  Bryan,  like  a brave 


422 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


youth  as  he  was,  ever  and  always  protected  them 
against  the  disadvantage  of  numbers,  and  insistt*d 
on  showing  them  fair  play.  I am  warm,  Mrs.  Cava- 
nagh,”  he  continued,  “and  heat,  you  know,  gene- 
rates thirst.  I know  that  a drop  o’  the  right  sort 
used  to  be  somewhere  undher  this  same  roof;  but 
I’m  afraid  if  the  fama  clamosa  be  thrue,  that  the 
side  of  the  argument  I have  taken  isn’t  exactly 
such  as  to  guarantee  me  a touch  at  the  native — 
that  is,  taking  it  for  granted  that  there’s  any  in  the 
house.” 

This  request  was  followed  by  a short  silence.  The 
Cavanaghs  all,  w’ith  the  exception  of  Kathleen, 
looked  at  each  other,  but  every  eye  was  marked 
either  by  indecision  or  indifference.  At  length 
Hanna  looked  at  her  sister,  and  simply  said,  “ dear 
Kathleen  ! ” 

“ He  has  done,”  replied  the  latter,  in  a low  voice, 
“ what  I had  not  the  generosity  to  do — he  has  de- 
fended the  absent.” 

“ Darling  Kathleen,”  Hanna  whispered,  and  then 
pressed  her  once  more  to  her  heart.  “You  must 
have  it,  Mr.  0‘Finigan,”  said  she — “ you  must  have 
it,  and  that  immediately;”  and  as  she  spoke,  she 
proceeded  to  a cupboard  from  which  she  produced 
a large  black  bottle,  filled  with  that  peculiar  liquid 
to  which  our  worthy  pedagogue  was  so  devotedly 
addicted. 

“ Ah,”  said  he,  on  receiving  a bumper  from  the 
fair  hand  of  Hanna,  “let  the  M’Mahons  alone  for 
the  old  original —indeed  I ought  to  say — aboriginal 
hospitality.  Thanks,  Miss  Hanna;  in  the  mean 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


423 


time  I will  enunciate  a toast,  and  although  we  shall 
not  draw  very  strongly  upon  sentiment  for  the 
terms,  it  shall  be  plain  and  pithy  ; liere  is  ‘ that  the 
saddle  of  infamy  may  be  soon  placed  U)»on  the  right 
horse,’  and  maybe  there’s  an  individual  not  a thou- 
sand miles  from  us,  and  wlio  is  besides  not  alto- 
gether incognizant  of  tlie  learned  languages,  includ- 
ing a tolerably  comprehensive  circle  of  mathema- 
tics, who  will,  to  a certain  extent,  contribute  to  the 
consummation  of  that  most  desirable  event;  here 
then,  I repate,  is  the  toast — ‘may  the  saddle  of  in- 
famy soon  be  placed  upon  the  right  horse  ! ’” 

Having  drunk  ofi  the  glass,  he  turned  the  mouth 
of  it  dowMi  upon  his  corduroy  breeches,  as  an  intima- 
tion that  he  might  probably  find  it  necessary  to 
have  recourse  to  it  again. 

Hanna  observed,  or  rather  we  should  say,  felt, 
that  as  Finigan  proceede*!  wdth  his  reminiscences  of 
M’Mahon’s  school-boy  days  and  the  enumeration  of 
his  virtues,  her  sister’s  heart  and  bosom  quivered 
with  deep  and  almost  irrepressible  emotion.  There 
was  a good  deal  of  enthusiasm  in  the  man’s  man- 
ner, because  he  w’as  in  earnest,  and  it  was  quite  evi- 
dent that  Kathleen’s  spirit  had  caugiit  it  as  he  went 
along,  and  that  Imr  heart  recognized  the  truth  of 
the  picture  which  he  was  drawing.  We  say  she 
literally  felt  the  quiverings  of  her  sister’s  heart 
against  her  own,  and  to  do  the  admirable  girl  jus* 
ti  *0,  she  rt  j oiced  to  recognize  these  manifestations 
of  returning  affection. 

“It  was  only  yesterday,”  continued  Finicran,  re- 
suming the  discourse,  “ that  I met  Bryan  M’Mahon, 


424 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


and  by  the  way,  he  has  sorrow  and  distress,  poor 
fellow,  in  his  face.  ‘ Bryan,’  said  I,  ‘is  it  true  that 
you  and  your  father’s  family  are  preparing  to  go  to 
that  rcfagium  peccatorurn^  America — tliat  over- 
grown cupping-glass  which  is  drawing  the  best 
blood  of  our  country  out  of  it  ?’ 

“ ‘ The  people  of  Ireland,’  he  r plied,  ‘ have  a right 
to  bless  God  that  there  is  such  a country  to  fly  to, 
and  to  resave  them  from  a land  where  they’re  ne- 
glected and  overlooked.  It  is  true,  Mr.  O’Finigan,’ 
he  proceeded — ‘we  have  nothing  in  this  country  to 
live  for  now.’ 

“ ‘ And  so  you  are  preparing  ?’  I asked. 

“ ‘ I ought  rather  say,’  he  replied,  ‘that  we  are 
prepared  ; we  go  in  another  month;  I only  wish  we 
were  there  already.’ 

‘‘  ‘ I fear,  Bryan,’  said  I,  ‘that  you  have  not  been 
well  t rated  of  late.’  He  looked  at  me  with  some- 
thiiig  like  surprise,  but  said  nothing ; ‘ and  in  a 
quarter,  I added,  that  was  the  last  from  which  you 
were  prepared  to  expect  justice  without  mercy.’ 

“‘I  don’t  understand  you,’  he  replied  sharply; 
‘ what  do  you  mean  ?’ 

“‘Brvan,’  said  I,  ‘I  scorn  a moral  circumben- 
dibus where  the  direct  truth  is  necessary;  I have 
heard  it  said,  and  I fear  it  is  burlhened  wid  too 
much  uncomfortable  veracity,  that  Katldeen  Cava- 
nagh  has  donned  the  black  cap^  in  doing  the  judi- 
cial upon  you,  and  that  she  considers  her  sentence 
equal  to  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  un- 

* Alluding  to  the  practice  of  putting  on  the  black  cap  when  tlie 
Judge  condemns  a felon  to  death. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


42o 


clianireable — or,  like  those  of  our  own  blesst*d  church 
— wid  reverence  be  the  analogy  made— allogelljcr 
infallible.’  ills  eye  blazed  as  1 spoke;  he  caught 
me  here  by  the  Cv>llar  wid  a grip  that  made  me 
quake — ‘ Another  word  against  Kathleen  Cavauagii,’ 
lie  replied,  ‘and  I will  shake  every  joint  of  your 
carcass  out  of  its  pLice.’  IIis  little  sister,  Doia, 
was  wid  him  at  the  time;  ‘ Give  him  a shake  or  two 
as  it  is,’  she  abded,  egging  him  on,  ‘ for  whit  he  has 
said  already;’  throth  she’s  a lively  little  lady  that, 
au’  if  it  wasn’t  tliat  she  has  a pair  of  dark  shining 
eyes,  and  sweet  features— ay,  and  as  coaxin’  a figure 
of  her  own — however,  surra  may  care,  somehow,  I 
defy  any  one  to  be  angry  wid  her.” 

“ Come,  Mr.  O’Finigan,”  said  James,  approach- 
ing him,  “ you  must  have  another  glass.” 

“ Well  no,  James,”  he  replied,  “ 1 think  not.” 

“Faith,  but  I say  you  will;  if  it  was  only  to  hear 
what  Dora — hem — what  Bryan  said.” 

‘‘Very  w’ell,”  said  the  master,  allowing  him  to 
take  the  glass  which  he  received  again  brimming 
“ thanks,  James. 

“‘  Well,’  said  Bryan,  lettin’  go  my  collar,  ‘blame 
any  one  you  like;  blame  me,  blame  Vauston,  blame 
Chevydale,  Fethertonge,  anybody,  everybody,  the 
Priest,  the  Bishop,  the  Pope, — but  don’t  dare  to 
blame  Kathleen  Cavanagh.’ 

“ ‘ Why,’  said  I,  ‘has  she  been  right  in  her  con- 
demnation of  you  ?’ 

“‘She  has,’  he  replied,  with  a warmth  of  enthusi- 
asm which  lit  up  his  whole  features  ; ‘ she  has  done 
nothing  but  what  was  right.  She  just  acted  as  she 


426 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


ought,  and  all  I can  say  is,  that  I know  Tin  not 
worthy  of  her,  and  never  was.  Gud  bless  hvr !’ 

‘ And  don’t  let  7ne  hear,’  said  D;>ra,  taking  up 
the  dialogue,  ‘that  ever  you’ll  inanition  her  name 
wid  disrespect — mark  that,  Mr.  O’Finigan,  or  it’ll 
be  worse  for  you  a ih rifle.’ 

“ Her  brother  looked  on  her  wid  complacent  af- 
fection, and  patting  her  on  the  head,  said,  ‘ Come, 
darling,  don't  beat  him  now.  You  see  the  risk 
you  run,’  he  added,  as  they  went  away,  ‘ so 
don’t  draw  down  Dora’s  vengeance  on  your  head. 
She  might  forgive  you  an  offence  against  herself  \ 
but  slie  won’t  forgive  you  one  against  Kathleen 
Cavanagh  ; and.  Mister  O’Finigan,  neither  xoill  ” 

“ Masther,”  said  James  Cavanagh,  “ you’ll  stop 
to-night  with  us  ?” 

“Ko,  James,  I have  an  engagement  of  more  im- 
portance than  you  could  ever  dhrame  of,  and  about 
— but  I’m  not  free  or  at  liberty  to  develop  the  plot 
— for  plot  it  is — at  any  greater  length.  Many 
thanks  to  you  in  the  mane  time  for  your  hospitable 
intentions;  but  before  I go,  I have  a word  to  say. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  young  man’s  gine- 
rosity,  who  would  rather  have  himself  thought 
guilty  than  have  her  thought  wrong  ; for,  whisper, 
— I say  he’s  not  goilty,  and  maybe — but,  no  mat- 
ther,  time  will  tell,  and  soon  tell,  too,  plaise  God.” 

So  saying  he  took  up  his  hat,  and  politely  wished 
them  a pleasant  evetiing,  but  firmly  refused  to  taste 
another  drop  of  liquor,  “lest,”  he  added,  “it  might 
denude  him  of  tlie  necessary  qualifications  for  ac- 
complishing the  enterprise  on  which  he  was  bint.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


42T 


When  he  was  gone,  Kathleen  brought  her  sister 
to  their  own  room,  and  throwing  herself  on  her  bo- 
som, she  spoke  not,  but  wept  calmly  and  in  silence 
for  about  twenty  minutes. 

“ Kathleen,”  said  Hanna,  “ I am  glad  to  see  this, 
and  I often  wished  for  it.” 

“ Whisht,  dear  Hanna,”  she  replied  ; ‘‘  don’t  speak 
to  me  at  present.  I’m  not  fit  to  talk  on  that  unfor- 
tunate subject  yet.  ‘Forgiveus  our  trespasses  as 
we — we — forgive  them  that  trespass  against  us  ! ’ 
Oh!  Hanna  darling,  how  have  /prayed?”  They 
then  rejoined  the  family. 


428 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HARHY  Clinton’s  benevolence  defeated — nis 
uncle's  TREACHERY— the  MARRIAGE  OF  KATH- 
LEEN AND  EDWARD  BURKE  DETERMINED  ON. 

This  partial  restoration  of  M’Mahori  to  the  affec- 
tions ol’Katlileen  Cavanagh  might  have  terminated 
in  a full  and  perfect  reconciliation  between  them, 
were  it  not  for  circumstances  which  we  are  about  to 
detail.  From  what  our  readers  know  of  young  Clin- 
ton, we  need  not  assure  them  that,  although  wild 
and  fond  of  pleasure,  he  washy  no  means  devoid  of 
either  generosity  or  principle.  There  were  indeed 
few  individuals,  perhaps  scarcely  any,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  felt  a deeper  or  manlier  sympathy  for 
the  adverse  fate  and  evil  repute  which  had  come  so 
smld^  nly,  a?)d,  as  he  believed  in  hU  soul,  undeserv- 
edly upon  Bryan  M’Mahon.  He  resolved  accord- 
ingly to  make  an  effort  for  the  purpose  of  setting 
the  unfortunate  young  man’s  character  right  with 
the  public,  or  if  not  vuth  the  public,  at  least  in  that 
quarter  where  such  a service  might  prove  most  l)en- 
eficial  to  hitn,  we  mean  in  Gerald  Cavanagh’s  famdy. 
Accordingly,  one  morning  after  breakfast  as  his 
uncle  sat  reading  the  nnwspaper,  he  addressed  him 
as  follows : — 

“ By  the  way,  uncle,  you  must  excuse  me  for  ask- 
ing you  a question  or  two.” 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


429 


“ Certainly,  Harry.  Did  I not  often  desire  you 
never  to  ijesitale  asking  me  any  quesiion  you  wish'? 
Why  should  you  not 

Tiiis,  however,  may  be  trenching  a little  upon 
the  secrets  of  your — your — profession.” 

“ What  is  it  ? — what  is  it  ? ” 

“You  remember  the  seizure  you  made  some  time 
ago  in  the  tovvnland  of  Ahadarra?” 

“ I do  perfectly  well.” 

“Now,  uncle,  excuse  me.  Is  it  fair  to  ask  you 
if  you  know  the  person  who  furnished  you  with 
information  on  that  subject.  Mark,  I don’t  wish 
nor  desire  to  know  his  name;  I only  ask  \iyou 
know  it  ? ” 

“ No,  I do  not.” 

“ Do  you  not  suspect  it  ? It  came  to  you  anony- 
mously, did  it  not?” 

“ Why,  you  are  raking  me  with  a fire  of  cross- 
examination,  Harry  ; but  it  did.” 

“ Should  you  wish  to  know,  uncle  ?” 

“ Urnloubtedly,  I wnsh  to  know  those  to  whom  we 
are  indebted  for  that  fortunate  event.” 

“Don’t  say  we^  uncle  ; speak  only  for  yourself.” 

“I  should  wish  to  know,  though.” 

“ Pray  have  you  the  letter?” 

“ I have  ; you  will  find  it  in  one  of  the  upper 
pigeon  holes  ; I can’t  say  which  ; towards  the  left 
hand.  I placed  it  there  yesterday,  as  it  turned  up 
among  some  other  communications  of  a similar 
stamp.” 

In  a few  moments  his  nephew  returned,  with  the 
precious  document  in  his  hands. 


430 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“Now,  uncle,”  he  proceeded,  as  he  seated  him- 
self at  the  table,  “ you  admit  that  this  is  the  letter  ? ” 

“I  admit — why,  you  blockhead,  dues  not  the  let- 
ter itself  prove  as  much  ? ” 

“Well,  then,  I know  the  scoundrel  who  sent  you 
this  letter.” 

“ I grant  you  he  is  a scoundrel,  Harry  ; nobody, 
I assure  you,  des[dses  his  tools  more  than  I do,  <as  in 
general  every  man  dues  who  is  forced  to  make  use 
of  them.  Go  on.” 

“Tiie  man  who  sent  you  that  letter  was  Ilycv 
Burke.” 

‘•Very  likely,”  replied  the  cool  old  Still-Hound; 
“But  I did  not  think  he  would  ever  place  us — ” 

“ Tow,  sir,  if  you  please.” 

“Very  well,  me,  sir,  if  you  please,  under  such  an 
important  obligation  to  him.  How  do  you  know, 
though,  that  it  was  he  who  sent  it’  ” 

His  nephew  then  related  the  circumstance  of  his 
meeting  with  Nanny  Peety,  and  the  discovery  which 
he  had  made  througli  her  of  the  letter  having  been 
both  written  and  sent  by  Hycy  to  the  post-office. 
In  order,  besides,  to  satisfy  his  relative  tljat  the  get- 
ting up  of  tlie  still  was  a plan  concocted  by  Hycy 
to  ruin  M'Mahon,  through  the  medium  of  the  fine, 
he  detailed  as  much  of  Hycy^s  former  proposal  to 
liiin  as  he  conveniently  could,  without  disclosing  the 
part  which  lie  himself  had  undertaken  to  perform  in 
this  concerted  movement. 

“Well,  Harry,”  replied  the  old  fellow  after  a 
pause,  “ he’s  a d — d scoundrel,  no  doubt ; but  as  his 
scoundrtlism  is  his  own,  I don’t  see  why  we  should 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


431 


hesitate  to  avail  ourselves  of  it.  With  respect,  how- 
ever, to  M’Mahon,  I can  assure  you,  that  1 was  in- 
formed of  his  intention  to  set  up  a Still  a good  while 
before  1 made  the  capt  ure,  and  not  by  anonymous 
information  either.  Now,  what  would  you  say  if 
botli  I and  Fethertonge  knew  the  whole  plot  long 
before  it  was  put  in  practice  ?” 

As  he  spoke,  he  screvved  his  hard  keen  features 
into  a most  knavish  expression. 

“ Yes,”  he  added ; “ and  I can  tell  you  that  both 
the  agent  and  I forewarned  M’Mahon  against  suf- 
fering himself  to  engage  in  anything  illegal — which 
was  our  duty  as  his  friends  you  know — hem ! ” 

“Is  that  possible?”  said  his  nephew, blushing  for 
this  vilLiinous  admission. 

“Quite  possible,”  replied  the  other;  “however, 
as  I said,  I don’t  see  why  we  should  hesitate  to 
avail  ourselves  of  his  villainy.” 

“That  is  precisely  what  I was  about  to  say, 
sir,”  replied  his  nephew,  still  musing  on  what  he  had 
heard. 

“ Right,  Harry ; the  farm  is  a good  thing,  or  will 
be  so,  at  least.” 

“ The  farm,  sir ! but  I did  not  speak  with  refer- 
ence to  the  farm.” 

“Then  with  reference  to  whM  did  you  speak?” 

“ I meant,  sir,  that  we  should  not  hesitate  to  avail 
ourselves  of  his  villainy,  in  setting  M Mahon  right 
with  the  public  as  far  as  we  could.” 

“With  the  whole  public  I — whew!  Whv,  my 
good  young  man,  I thought  the  days  of  giants  and 
windmills  had  gone  by.” 


432 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“Well,  sir,”  coiitiriued  tlie  uepliew,  at  all  events 
tliere  is  one  thing  yon  must  do  for  me.  I wish  you 
to  see  old  Gerald  Cavanagh,  and  as  far  as  you  can 
to  restore  ids  confidence  in  tlie  honesty  and  integrity 
of  young  M’Mation.  State  to  him  tliat  you  have 
reason  to  know  that  his  son  lias  a bitter  enemy  in 
the  neighl/orhood  ; that  great  injusiice  had  been 
d me  to  him  in  many  ways,  and  that  you  would  be 
glad  that  a reconciliation  should  take  place  between 
the  families.” 

“ And  so  I am  to  set  out  upon  the  wild  goose  chase 
of  reconciling  a wench  and  a fellow,  without  know- 
ing why  or  wherefore.” 

No,  sir — not  at  all— I will  make  Cavanagh  call 
upon  you.” 

“I  don’t  understand  this,”  replied  the  uncle,  rub- 
bing behind  his  ear;  “I  don’t  perceive;  but  pray 
wiiat  interest  have  you  in  the  matter?” 

“Upon  my  iiouor,  uncle,  none  in  life,  unless  an 
anxiety  to  serve  pour  M’Mahon.  Tiie  world  is  down 
upon  him  about  that  vote  which,  considering  all  the 
circumstances,  was  more  creditable  to  him  than 
otherwise.  I know,  however,  that  in  consequence 
of  the  estrangement  between  him  and  Miss  Cavanagh, 
be  is  bent  on  emigrating.  It  is  that  fact  Vikich 
2yresses  upon  him  most  Now  will  you  oblige  me  in 
this,  uncle  ? ” 

“Let  Cavanagh  call  upon  me,”  he  replied,  “and 
if  I can  say  anytldng  to  soften  the  old  fellow,  per- 
haps I will.” 

“ Thank  you,  uncle — thank  you — I shall  not  forget 
this  kindness.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


433 


“Well,  then,”  said  his  nncle,  “ I am  going  dowu 
to  Fethertonge  on  a certain  matter  of  business,  you 
understand^  and — let  me  see — why,  if  Cavanagh 
calls  on  me  to-morrow  about  eleven,  I shall  see  him 
at  all  events.” 

Young  Clinton  felt  surprised  and  grieved  at  what 
his  uncle  had  just  Idnted  to  him;  but  on  the  other 
liand,  he  felt  considerably  elated  at  the  prospect  of 
being  able  to  bring  about  a reconciliation  between 
these  two  families,  and  with  this  excellent  motive  in 
view  he  went  to  Cavanagh,  with  whom  he  had  a 
private  conversation.  Having  been  made  aware  by 
M’Mahon  himself  of  Cavanagh’s  prejudice  against 
him,  and  the  predilections  of  himself  and  his 
wife  for  an  alliance  into  Burke’s  family,  he  merely 
told  him  that  his  uncle  would  be  glad  to  see  him 
the  next  day  about  eleven  o’clock,  upon  which  the 
other  promised  to  attend  to  that  gentleman. 

Old  Clinton,  on  his  way  to  Fethertonge’s,  met 
that  worthy  individual  riding  into  Bally macan. 

“ I was  going  down  to  you,” said  he;  “ but  where 
are  you  bound  for  ?” 

“Into  town,”  replied  the  agent ; “ have  you  any 
objection  to  ride  that  way?  ” 

“None  in  the  world;  it  is  just  the  same  to  me. 
Well,  how  are  matters  proceeding?” 

“Not  by  any  means  well,”  replied  the  other  “I 
begin  to  fe(d  something  like  alarm.  I wdsh  we  had 
those  M’Mahons  out  of  the  country.  Vanston  has 
paid  that  d — d goose  Chevydale  a visit  • and  I fear 
that  unless  the  Ahadarra  man  and  his  father,  and 


19 


434 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


the  whole  crew  of  them,  soon  leave  the  country,  we 
shall  break  down  in  our  object.” 

‘‘  Do  you  tell  me  so  ? ” said  the  guager,  starting  ; 
‘‘by  Jove,  it  is  well  I know  this  in  time.” 

“ I don’t  understand.” 

“Why,”  continued  Clinton,  “I  was  about  to  take 
a foolish  step  to-morrow  morning,  for  the  express 
purpose,  I believe,  of  keeping  him,  and  probably  the 
whole  family  in  the  country.” 

He  then  detailed  the  conversation  that  he  had 
with  his  nephew,  upon  which  Fethertonge  convinced 
him  that  there  was  more  in  the  wind  with  respect 
to  that  step,  than  either  he  or  his  nephew,  who  he 
assured  him  was  made  a cat’s  paw  of  in  the  business, 
suspected.  “ That’s  a deep  move,”  said  the  agent, 
“ but  we  shall  defeat  them,  notwithstanding.  Every- 
thing, however,  depends  upon  their  leaving  the  coun- 
try before  Chevydale  happens  to  come  at  the  real 
state  of  the  case ; still,  it  will  go  hard  or  we  shall 
baffle  both  him  and  them  yet.” 

Whether  Clinton  was  sure  that  the  step  urged 
upon  him  by  his  nephew  was  the  result  of  a generous 
regard  for  M‘Mahon,  or  that  the  former  was  made  a 
mere  tool  for  ultimate  purposes,  in  the  hands  of  the 
Ahadarra  man,  as  he  called  him  it  is  not  easy  to  de- 
termine. Be  this  as  it  may,  when  the  hour  of  eleven 
o’clock  came  the  next  morning,  he  was  prepared  to 
set  his  nephew’s  generosity  aside,  and  act  upon 
Fethertongo’s  theory  of  doing  everything  in  his 
power  to  get  the  whole  connexion  out  of  the  coun- 
try. “Ha,”  he  exclaimed,  “I  now  understand  what 
Harry  meant  with  respect  to  their  emigration — ‘ It 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


435 


is  that  fact  lohich  presses  vpon  him  most.'*  Oh  ho! 
is  it  so,  indeed  ! Very  good,  Mr.  M‘Mahon — we 
shall  act  accordingly.” 

Gerald  Cavan agh  had  been  made  acquainted  by 
his  wife  on  the  day  before  with  the  partial  revival 
of  his  daughter’s  affection  for  Bryan  M‘Mahon,  as 
well  as  with  the  enthusiastic  defence  of  him  made 
by  Finigan,  two  circumstances  which  gave  him 
much  concern  and  anxi-ity.  On  his  return,  however, 
from  Clinton’s,  his  family  observed  that  there  was 
soraetliing  of  a satisfactory  expression  mingled  up 
with  a good  deal  of  grave  tliought  in  his  face.  The 
truth  is,  if  the  worthy  man  thought  for  a moment 
that  the  ultimate  loss  of  M'Mahon  would  have  seri- 
ously injured  her  peace  of  mind,  he  would  have  bit- 
terly regretted  it,  and  perhaps  encouraged  a reconcil- 
iation. Tliis  was  a result,  however,  that  he  could 
scarcely  comprehend.  That  she  might  fret  and  pine 
for  a few  months  or  so  was  the  worst  he  could  cal- 
culate upon,  and  of  course  he  took  it  for  granted, 
that  the  moment  her  affection  for  one  was  eflficed, 
another  might  step  in,  without  any  great  risk  of  dis- 
appointment. 

“ Well,  Gerald,”  said  his  wife,  “ what  did  Guager 
Clinton  want  with  you?” 

Gerald  looked  at  his  two  daughters  and  sighed 
unconsciously.  ‘‘It’s  not  good  news,”  he  proceeded, 
“ in  one  sense,  but  it  is  in  another ; its  good  news  to 
all  my  family  but  that  girl  sittin’  there,”  pointing  to 
Kathleen. 

Unfortunately  no  evil  intelligence  could  have  ren- 
dered the  unhappy  girl’s  cheek  paler  than  it  was;  so 


436 


THE  EMIGRA.NTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


that,  SO  far  as  appearances  went  it  was  impossiVjle 
to  say  wnat  effect  this  startling  communication  had 
upon  her. 

“I  was  down  wid  Misther  Clinton,”  he  proceeded; 
“ he  hard  a report  that  there  was  about  to  be  a makin* 
up  of  the  differences  between  Katlileen  there  and 
Bryan,  and  he  sent  for  me  to  say,  that,  for  the  girl’s 
sake — who  he  said  was,  as  he  had  hard  from  all 
quarthers,  a respectable,  genteel  girl — he  couldn’t 
suffer  a young  man  so  full  of  thraichery  and  desate, 
as  he  had  good  raisons  to  know  Bryan  Mahon 
was,  to  impose  himself  upon  her  or  he^*  family.  He 
cautioned  me,”  he  proceeded,  “and  all  of  us  against 
liim ; and  said  that  if  I allowed  a marriage  to  take 
place  betwen  him  and  my  daughter,  he’d  soon  bring 
disgrace  upon  her  and  us,  as  w^ell  as  himself.  ‘ You 
may  take  my  word  for  it,  Mr.  Cavanagh,’  says  he, 
‘ tliat  is  not  a thrifle  ’ud  make  me  send  for  you  in 
sich  a business;  but,  as  I happen  to  know  the  stuff 
he  is  made  of,  I couldn’t  bear  to  see  him  take  a de- 
cent family  in  so  distastefully.  To  my  own  know- 
ledge, Cavanai^h,’  said  he,  ‘ he’d  desave  a saint, 
much  less  your  innocent  and  unsuspectin’  daugh 
ter.’  ” 

“ But,  father,”  said  Hanna,  “ you  know  there’s  not 
a word  of  truth  in  that  report ; and  mayn’t  all  that 
has  been  said,  or  at  least  some  of  what  has  been  said 
against  Bryan,  be  as  much  a lie  as  that?  W ho  on 
earth  could  sich  a report  come  from  ?” 

“ [ axed  Mr.  Clinton  the  same  question,”  said  the 
father,  “and  it  appears  that  it  came  from  Bryan 
himself.” 


/ 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 


437 


“ Oh,  God  forbid  !”  exclaimed  Hanna  ; “ for,  if  its 
a thing  that  he  said  that,  he’d  say  anything.” 

“I  don’t  know,”  returned  the  fatlier,  “I  only 
spake  it  as  I hard  it,  and,  what  is  more,  I believe  it 
— I believe  it  after  what  I hard  this  day ; every- 
body knows  him  now — man,  woman,  an’  child. 
Cheernah!  what  an  escape  that  innocent  girl  had 
of  him  !” 

Kathleen  rose  up,  went  over  to  her  father,  and, 
placing  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  was  about  to 
speak,  but  she  checked  herself;  and,  after  looking  at 
them  all,  as  it  w^ere  by  turns,  with  a look  of  distrac- 
tion and  calm  but  concentrated  agony,  she  returned 
again  to  her  seat,  but  did  not  sit  down. 

“ After  all,”  she  exclaimed,  “there  has  been  no 
new  crime  brought  against  him,  not  one  ; but,  if  I 
acted  wrongly  and  ungenerously  once,  I won’t  do  so 
again.  Hanna,  see  his  sister  Dora,  say  I give  him 
the  next  three  weeks  to  clear  himself;  and,  father, 
listen  ! if  he  doesn’t  do  so  within  that  time,  take  me, 
marry  me  to  Edward  Burke  if  you  wish — of  course 
Hycy’s  out  of  the  question — since  you  must  have  it 
so,  for  the  sooner  I go  to  my  grave  the  better. 
There’s  his  last  chance,  let  him  take  it ; but,  in  the 
mean  time,  listen  to  me,  one  and  all  of  you.  I can- 
not bear  this  long;  there’s  a dry  burning  pain  about 
my  heart,  and  a weight  upon  it  will  soon  put  me  out 
of  the  reach  of  disappointment  and  sorrow.  Oh, 
Bryan  M‘Mahon,  can  you  be  what  is  said  of  you  ! and, 
if  you  can,  oh,  why  did  we  ever  meet,  or  why  did  I 
ever  see  you !” 

Her  sister  Hanna  attempted  to  console  her,  but  for 


438 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


once  she  failed.  Kathleen  would  hear  no  comfort, 
for  she  said  she  stood  in  need  of  none. 

‘‘My  mind  is  all  dark,”  said  she,  ‘‘or  rather  it  is 
sick  of  this  miserable  work.  Why  am  I fastened 
upon  by  such  suffering  and  distraction  ? Don’t  at- 
tempt at  present  to  console  me,  Hanna;  I won’t,  be- 
cause I can’t  be  consoled.  I wish  I knew  this  man 
— whether  he  is  honest  or  not.  If  he  is  the  villain 
they  say  he  is,  and  that  with  a false  mask  upon  him, 
be  has  imposed  himself  on  me,  and  gained  iiiy  affec- 
tions by  hypocrisy  and  deceit,  why,  Hanna,  my  dar- 
ling sister,  I could  stab  him  to  the  heart.  To  think 
that  I ever  should  come  to  love  a villain  that  could 
betray  his  church,  his  country,  me — and  take  a 
bribe ; yes,  he  has  done  it,”  she  proceeded,  catching 
fire  from  the  force  of  her  own  detestation  of  what 
was  wrong.  “ Here,  Hanna,  I call  back  my  words — I 
give  him  no  further  warning  than  he  has  got : he 
knows  the  time,  the  greater  part  of  it  is  past,  and 
has  he  ever  made  a single  attempt  to  clear  himself? 
No,  because  he  cannot.  I despise  him;  he  is  unw^orthy 
of  me,  and  I fear  he  ever  was.  Here,  father,”  she 
said  with  vehemence,  “ listen  to  me,  my  dear  father  ; 
and  you,  my  mother, beloved  mother,  hear  me!  At 
tlie  expiration  of  three  weeks  I will  marry  Edward 
Burke ; he  is  a modest,  and  I think  an  honest  young 
man,  who  would  not  betray  his  religion  nor  his  coun- 
try, nor — nor — any  unhappy  girl  that  might  hap- 
pen to  love  him ; oh,  no,  he  would  not — and  so, 
after  three  weeks — I will  marry  him.  Go  now  and 
tell  Idm  so — say  I said  so;  and  you  may  rest  assured 
I will  not  break  my  word,  although — I may  break — 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


439 


break  my  heart  —my  heart ! Now,  Hanna,  come 
out  and  walk,  dear — come  out,  and  let  us  chat  of 
other  matters — yes,  of  other  matters;  and  you  can 
tell  me  candidly  whether  you  think  Bryan  M^Mahou 
such  a villain.”  Struck  by  her  own  words  she 
paused  almost  exhausted,  and,  bending  down,  put 
her  face  upon  her  hands,  and  by  a long  persevering 
effort,  at  length  raised  her  head,  and  after  a little 
lime  appeared  to  have  regained  a good  deal  of  com- 
posure ; but  not  without  tears — for  she  had  wept 
bitterly. 

On  that  night  she  told  her  sister  that  the  last  reso- 
lution she  had  come  to  was  that  by  which  she  was 
determined  to  abide. 

“ You  would  not  have  me  like  a mere  girl,”  she 
said,  “without  the  power  of  knowing  my  own  mind 
— no;  let  what  may  come  I will  send  no  messages 
after  him — and  as  sure  as  I have  life  I will  marry 
Edward  Burke  after  the  expiration  of  three  weeks, 
if  Bryan  doesn’t — but  it’s  idle  to  talk  of  it — if  he 
could  he  would  have  done  it  before  now.  Good- 
night, dear  Hanna — good-night,”  and  after  many  a 
long  and  heavy  sigh  she  sank  to  an  uneasy  and  trou- 
bled slumber. 

Tne  next  morning  Gerald  Cavanagh,  who  laid 
great  stress  upon  the  distracted  language  of  his 
datigiiter  on  the  proceeding  night  paid  an  early  visit 
to  his  friend,  Jemmy  Burke.  He  found  the  whole 
family  assetnbled  at  breakfast,  and  after  the  usual 
salutations,  was  asked  to  join  them,  which  invitation, 
however,  havir»g  already  breakfasted,  he  declined. 
Hycy  had  of  late  been  very  much  abroad— that  is 


440 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


to  say  he  was  out  very  much  at  night,  and  dined 
very  frequently  in  tlie  head-inn  of  Ballyraacan,  when 
one  would  suppose  he  ought  to  have  dined  at  home. 
On  the  present  occasion  he  saluted  honest  Gerald 
with  a politeness  peculiarly  ironical. 

“ Mr.  Cavanagh,”  said  he,  “ I hope  I see  you  in 
good  health,  sir.  How  are  all  the  ladies  ? — Hannah, 
the  neat,  and  Kathleen  — ah,  Kathleen,  the  di- 
vine ! ” 

‘‘Troth,  they’re  all  very  well,  I thank  you,  Hycy  ; 
and  how  is  yourself?” 

“Free  from  care,  Mr.  Cavanagh — a chartered 
libertine.” 

“A  libertine!”  exclaimed  the  honest  farmer; 
“ troth  I’ve  occasionally  heard  as  much  ; but  until 
I heard  it  from  your  own  lips  divil  a word  of  it  I 
believed.” 

“ He  is  only  jesting,  Mr.  Cavanagh,”  said  his 
brother;  “he  doesn’t  mean  exactly,  nor  indeed  at 
all,  what  you  suppose  he  does.” 

“Does  he  mean  anything  at  all,  Ned?”  said  his 
father,  drily,  “ for  of  late  it’s  no  aisy  matther  to  un- 
derstand him.” 

“Well  said,  Mr.  Burke,”  replied  H vcy ; “lam 
like  your  yourself  becoming  exceedingly  oracular 
of  late — but,  Mr.  Cavanagh,  touching  this  exquisite 
union  which  is  contemplated  between  Adonis  and 
Juno  the  ox-eyed — does  it  still  hold  good,  that,  pro- 
vided always  she  cannot  secure  the  corrupt  clod- 
hopper, she  will  in  that  case  condescend  upon 
Adonis  ? ” 

“ Gerald,”  said  the  father,  “ as  there’s  none  here 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


441 


so  handy  at  the  nonsen<»e  as  to  understand  him,  the 
best  way  is  to  let  him  anwser  himself.” 

“Begad,  Jemmy,”  f^aid  Cavaiiagh,  “to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I haven’t  iionesense  enough  to  answer  the 
last  question  at  any  rate  ; unless  he  takes  to  speakiri’ 
common  sense  I won’t  undhertake  to  hould  any  fur- 
ther discourse  wid  him.” 

“Why  will  you  continue,”  said  his  brother  in  a 
low  voice,  “ to  render  yourself  liable  to  these  strong 
rebuffs  from  plain  people  ? ” 

Well  said,  most  vituline — Solomon  seci^ndus,  well 
said.” 

“Hycy,”  said  his  mother,  “ you  ought  to  remim- 
ber  that  every  one  didn’t  get  the  edication  you  did 
— an’  that  ignorant  people  like  your  father  and 
Gerald  Cavanagh  there  can’t  undhercomestand  one 
half  o’  what  you  say.  Sure  they  know  nothing  o’ 
bookdarnin’,  and  why  do  you  give  it  them?  ” 

“Simply  to  move  their  metaphysics,  M?*s.  Burke, 
They  are  two  of  the  most  notorious  metaphysicians 
from  this  to  themselves;  but  they  don’t  possess  your 
powers  of  ratiocination,  madam.” 

“No,”  replied  his  father,  “ nayther  are  we  sich 
judges  of  horseflesh,  Hycy.” 

Hycy  made  him  a polite  bow,  and  replied,  “ One 
would  think  that  joke  is  pretty  well  worn  by  this 
time,  Mr.  Burke.  Couldn’t  you  strike  out  something 
original  now?” 

“All  I can  say  is,”  replied  the  father,  “that  the 
joke  has  betther  bottom  than  the  garran  it  was 
made  upon.” 

Edward  now  arose  and  left'the  parlor,  evidently 


442 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


annoyed  at  the  empty  ribaldry  of  his  brother,  and  in 
a few  minutes  Hycy  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to- 
wards Ballymacan. 

It  is  not  our  intention  here  to  follow  Gerald  Cava- 
nagh  in  the  account,  unconsciously  one  sided  as  it 
was,  of  the  consent  wiiich  he  assured  them  KaLhleen 
had  given,  on  the  night  before,  to  marry  their  son 
Edward.  It  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  before  they 
separated,  the  match  was  absolutely  made  by  the 
two  worthies,  and  everything  arranged,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  day  of  marriage,  which  they  promised 
to  determine  on  at  their  next  meeting. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


443 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THOUGHTS  ON  OUR  COUNTRY  AND  OUR  COUNTRYMEN 
— DORA  AND  HER  LOVER. 

The  state  of  the  country,  at  this  period  of  our 
narrative,  was  full  of  gloom  and  depression.  Spring 
had  now  set  in,  and  tiie  numbers  of  our  independent 
and  most  indusirious  countrymen  that  flocked  towards 
our  great  seaports  were  reckoned  by  many  thou- 
sands; and  this  had  been  the  case  for  many  a season 
previously.  That  something  was  wrong,  and  that 
something  is  wrong  in  the  country  must,  alas ! be 
evident  from  the  myriads  who  whilst  they  have  the 
means  in  their  hands,  are  anxious  to  get  out  of  it  as 
fast  as  they  can.  And  yet  there  is  not  a country  in 
the  world,  a population  so  afiectionately  attached  to 
the  soil — to  the  place  of  their  birth — as  the  Irish.  In 
fact,  the  love  of  their  native  fields,  their  green  mead- 
ows, the  dark  mountains,  and  the  glorious  torrents 
that  gush  from  them,  is  a passion  of  which  they  have 
in  foreign  lands  been  often  known  to  die.  It  is  called 
Home  Sickness^  and  we  are  aware  ourselves  of  more 
than  one  or  two  cases  in  which  individuals,  in  a com- 
paratively early  stage  of  life,  have  pined  away  in 
secret  after  their  native  hills,  until  the  malady  be- 
coming known  unfortunately  too  late,  they  sought 
once  more  the  green  fields  and  valleys  among  which 
they  had  spent  their  youth,  just  in  time  to  lay  down 
their  pale  cheeks  and  rest  in  their  native  clay  for 


444 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


ever  those  hearts  which  absence  and  separation  from 
tlie  very  soil  had  broken. 

Now,  nothing  can  be  a greater  proof  of  the  pressure, 
the  neglect,  the  hopelessness  of  indep^  ndence  or  com- 
fort, which  the  condition  of  the  people,  and  tlm  cir- 
cumstances winch  occasioned  it,  have  produced,  than 
the  fact  that  the  strong  and  sacred  attachment  which 
we  have  described  is  utterly  incapable  of  attaching 
them  as  residents  in  a country  so  indescribably  dear 
to  their  best  affections.  People  may  ask,  and  do 
ask,  and  will  ask,  why  Ireland  is  in  such  a peculiarly 
distressed  state — why  there  is  always  upon  its  sur- 
face a floating  mass  of  pauperism  witiiout  parallel 
in  Europe,  or  perhaps  in  the  world  ? To  this  we  re- 
ply simply  because  the  duties  of  property  have  uni- 
formly been  neglected.  And  in  what,  may  it  be 
asked,  do  the  duties  of  property  consist?  To  this 
we  reply  again,  in  an  earnest  fixed  resolution  to  pro- 
mote, in  the  first  place,  the  best  social  and  domestic 
interests  of  the  people,  to  improve  their  condition, 
to  stock  their  minds  with  useful  and  appropriate 
knowledge,  to  see  that  they  shall  be  taught  what  a 
sense  of  decent  comfort  means,  that  they  shall  not 
rest  satisfied  with  a wad  of  straw  for  a bed,  and  a 
meal  of  potatoes  for  food,  and  that  they  shall,  be- 
sides, come  to  understand  the  importance  of  their 
own  position  as  members  of  civil  society.  Had  the 
landlords  of  Ireland  paid  attention  to  these  and  oth- 
er matters  that  directly  involve  their  own  welfare 
and  independence,  as  well  as  those  of  their  negh'Cted 
tenantry,  they  would  not  V>e,  as  tliey  now  are,  a class 
of  men,  some  absolutely  bankrupt,  and  more  on  the 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


445 


very  eve  of  it;  and  all  this,  to  use  a commercial 
phrase  painfully  appropriate, — because  they  neglect 
their  business. 

Who,  until  lately,  ever  heard  of  an  Irish  landlord 
having  made  the  subject  of  property,  or  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  it  ought  to  be  administered,  his 
study  ? By  this  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  they 
did  not  occasionally  bestow  a thought  upon  theii 
own  interests ; but,  in  doing  so,  they  were  guided 
by  erroneous  principles  that  led  them  to  place  these 
interests  in  antagonism  with  those  of  the  people. 
They  forgot  that  poverty  is  the  most  fertile  source 
of  population,  and  that  in  every  neglected  and  ill 
regulated  state  of  society,  they  invariably  reproduce 
each  other;  but  the  landlords  kept  the  people  poor, 
and  now  they  are  surprised,  forsooth,  at  their  pov- 
erty and  the  existence  of  a superabundant  popula- 
tion. 

“We  know,”  said  they,  “ that  the  people  are  poor; 
but  we  know  also  that,  by  subsisting  merely  upon 
the  potato,  and  excluding  better  food  and  a higlier 
state  of  comfort,  of  course  tlie  more  is  left  for  the 
landlord.”  This  in  general  was  their  principle — and 
its  consequences  are  now  upon  themselves. 

This,  however,  is  a subject  on  which  it  is  not  our 
intention  to  expatiate  here.  What  we  say  is,  that, 
in  all  the  relations  of  civil  life,  the  people  were 
shamefully  and  ciiminally  neglected.  They  were 
left  without  education,  permitted  to  remain  ignorant 
of  the  arts  of  life,  and  of  that  industrial  knowledge 
on  which,  or  rather  on  the  application  of  which,  all 
public  prosperity  is  based. 


446  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

And  yet,  although  the  people  have  great  errors, 
wiihout  which  no  people  so  long  neglected  can  ever 
be  found,  and,  although  they  have  been  for  centuries 
familiarised  with  suffering,  yet  it  is  absolute  dread 
of  poverty  that  drives  them  from  their  native  soil. 
They  understand,  in  fact,  the  progress  of  pauperism 
too  well,  and  are  willing  to  seek  fortune  in  any  clime, 
rather  than  abide  its  approach  to  themselves — an 
approach  which  they  know  is  in  their  case  inevita- 
ble and  certain.  For  instance,  the  very  class  of  our 
countrymen  that  constitutes  the  great  bulk  of  our 
emigrants  is  to  be  found  among  those  independent 
small  farmers  who  appear  to  understand  something 
like  comfort.  One  of  these  men  holding,  say  six- 
teen or  eighteen  acres,  has  a family  we  will  suppose 
of  four  sons  and  three  daughters.  This  family 
grows  up,  the  eldest  son  marries,  and  the  father, 
having  no  other  way  to  provide  for  him,  sets  apart 
three  or  four  acres  of  his  farm  on  which  he  and  his 
wife  settle.  The  second  comes  also  to  marry,  and 
hopes  his  father  won’t  treat  him  worse  than  he 
treated  his  brother.  lie  accordingly  gets  four  acres 
more,  and  settles  down  as  his  brother  did.  In  this 
manner  the  holding  is  frittered  away  and  subdivided 
among  them.  For  the  first  few  years — that  is,  be- 
fore their  children  rise — they  may  struggle  tolerably 
well;  but,  at  the  expiration  of  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  years,  each  brother  finds  himself  with  such  a 
family  as  his  little  strip  of  land  cannot  adequately 
support,  setting  aside  the  claims  of  the  landlord 
altogether ; for  rent  in  these  cases  is  almost  out  of 
the  question. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


447 


What,  then,  is  the  consequenee  ? Why,  that  here 
is  to  be  found  a population  of  paupers  squatted 
upon  patches  ot  lainl  quite  incapal>le  of  their  sup- 
port; and  in  seasons  of*  famine  and  sickness,  especi- 
ally in  a country  where  labor  is  below  its  value,  and 
employment  inadequate  to  tiie  demand  that  is  for  it, 
this  same  population  becomes  a helpless  burthen 
upon  it — a miserable  addition  to  the  mass  of  poverty 
and  destitution  under  which  it  groans. 

Such  is  the  history  of  one  class  of  emigrants  in 
this  unhappy  land  of  ours;  and  what  small  farmer, 
with  such  a destiny  as  that  we  have  detailed  staring 
him  and  his  in  the  face,  would  not  strain  every  nerve 
that  he  might  fly  to  any  country, — rather  than  re- 
main to  encounter  the  frightful  state  of  suffering 
which  awaits  him  in  this. 

Such,  then,  is  an  illustration  of  the  motives  which 
prompt  one  class  of  emigrants  to  seek  their  fortune 
in  other  climes,  while  it  is  yet  in  their  power  to  do 
so.  There  is  still  a higher  class,  however,  consist- 
ing of  strong  farmers  possessed  of  some  property 
and  wealth,  who,  on  looking  around  them,  And  that 
the  mass  of  destitution  which  is  so  rapidly  increas- 
ing in  every  direction  must  necessarily  press  upon 
them  in  time,  and  ultimately  drag  them  down  to  its 
own  level.  But  even  if  the  naked  evils  which  per- 
vade society  among  us  were  not  capable  of  driving 
these  independent  yeomen  to  other  lands,  we  can 
assure  our  legislators  that  what  these  circumstances, 
appalling  as  they  are,  may  fail  in  accomplishing,  the 
recent  act  for  the  extra  relief  of  able-bodied  paupers 
will  complete — an  act  which,  instead  of  being 


448 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


termed  a Relief  Act,  ought  to  be  called  an  act  for 
the  ruin  of  the  country  and  the  confiscation  of  its 
property,  both  of  which,  if  not  repealed,  it  will  ulti- 
mately accomplish.  We  need  not  mention  here 
cases  of  individual  neglect  or  injustice  upon  the  part 
of  landlords  and  agents,  inasmuch  as  we  have  par- 
tially founded  our  narrative  upon  a fact  of  this  de- 
scription. 

It  has  been  said,  we  know,  and  in  many  instances 
with  truth,  that  the  Irish  are  a negligent  and  care- 
less people — without  that  perseverance  and  enter- 
prise for  which  their  neighbors  on  the  other  side  of 
the  channel  are  so  remarkable.  We  are  not,  is  point 
of  fact,  about  to  dispute  the  justice  of  this  charge ; 
but,  if  it  be  true  of  the  people,  it  is  only  so  indi- 
rectly. Is  is  true  of  their  condition  and  social  cir- 
cumstances in  this  country,  rather  than  of  any  con- 
stitutional deficiency  in  either  energy  or  industry 
that  is  inherent  in  their  character.  In  their  own 
country  they  have  not  adequate  motive  for  action 
— no  guarantee  that  industry  shall  secure  them  in- 
dependence, or  that  the  fruits  of  their  labor  may 
not  pass,  at  the  will  of  their  landlords,  into  other 
hands.  Many,  therefore,  of  the  general  imputations 
that  are  brought  against  them  in  these  respects, 
ought  to  be  transferred  rather  to  the  depressing  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  are  placed  than  to  the 
people  themselves.  As  a proof  of  this,  we  have  only 
to  reflect  upon  their  industry,  enterprise,  and  success, 
when  relieved  from  the  pressure  of  these  circum- 
stances in  other  countries — especially  in  America, 
where  exertion  and  industry  never,  or  at  least  sel- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


449 


dora,  fail  to  arrive  at  comfort  and  independence. 
JMake,  then,  the  position  of  the  Irishman  reasonable 
— such,  tor  instance,  as  it  is  in  any  other  country  but 
his  own — and  he  can  stand  the  test  of  comparison 
witli  any  man. 

Not  only,  however,  are  the  Irish  flying  from  the 
evils  that  are  to  come,  but  they  feel  a most  affec- 
tionate anxiety  to  enable  all  those  who  are  bound  to 
them  by  the  ties  of  kindred  and  domestic  affection 
to  imitate  their  example.  There  is  not  probably  to 
be  found  in  records  of  human  attachment  such  a 
beautiful  history  of  unforgotten  affection,  as  that 
presented  by  the  heroic  devotion  of  Irish  emigrants 
to  those  of  their  kindred  who  remain  here  from  in- 
ability to  accompany  them.* 

* The  following  extract,  from  a very  sensible  pamphlet  by  Mr. 
Murray,  is  so  appropriate  to  this  subject,  that  we  cannot  deny 
ourselves  the  pleasure  of  quoting  it  here  : — 

“ You  have  been  accustomed  to  grapple  with  and  master  figures, 
whether  as  representing  the  produce  of  former  tariffs,  or  in  con- 
structing new  ones,  or  in  showing  the  income  and  expenditure  of 
the  greatest  nation  on  the  earth.  Those  now  about  to  be  pre- 
sented to  you,  as  an  appendix  to  this  communication,  are  small, 
very  small,  in  their  separate  amounts,  and  not  by  any  means  in 
the  aggregate  of  the  magnitude  of  the  sums  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  deal  with  ; but  they  are  largo  separately,  and  heaving 
large  in  the  aggregate,  in  all  that  is  connected  with  the  higher 
and  nobler  parts  of  our  nature — in  all  that  relates  to  and  evinces 
the  feelings  of  the  heart  towards  those  who  are  of  our  kindred, 
no  matter  by  what  waters  placed  asunder  or  by  what  distance 
separated.  They  are  large,  powerfully  large,  in  reading  lessons 
of  instruction  to  the  statesman  and  philanthropist,  in  dealing 
with  a warm-hearted  people  for  their  good,  and  placing  them  in  a 
position  of  comparative  comfort  to  that  in  which  they  now  are. 
The  figures  represent  the  particulars  of  7,917  separate  Bills 
of  Exchange,  varying  in  amount  from  £1  to  £10  each— a few  ex- 


450 


THE  EMIGRANT^  OF  AHADARRA. 


Let  it  not  be  saiti,  then,  that  the  Irishman  is  defi- 
cient in  any  of  the  moral  elements  or  natural  quali- 
ties which  go  to  the  formation  of  such  a character 
as  might  be  made  honorable  to  himself  and  bene- 
ficial to  the  country.  By  the  success  of  his  exertions 
in  a foreign  land,  it  is  clear  that  he  is  not  without 
industry,  enterprise,  and  perseverance;  and  we  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying  that,  if  he  were  6U{)plied  at 
liome  with  due  encouragement  and  adequate  motive, 
liis  good  qualities  could  be  developed  with  as  much 
zeal,  energy,  and  success  as  ever  characterized  them 
in  a foreign  country. 

ceedin^  the  latter  sum ; so  many  separate  offerings  from 
the  natives  of  Ireland  who  have  heretofore  emigrated  from 
its  shores,  sent  to  their  relations  and  friends  in  Ireland, 
drawn  and  paid  between  the  1st  of  January  and  the  15th  of  De- 
cember, 1846 — not  quite  one  year ; and  amount  in  all  to  £41,261  93. 
lid.  But  this  lis^,  long  though  it  be,  does  not  measure  the  num- 
ber and  amount  of  such  interesting  oflferings.  It  contains  only 
about  one-third  part  of  the  whole  number  and  value  of  such  re- 
mittances that  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  Ireland  during  the 
349  daj’s  of  1846.  The  data  from  which  this  list  is  compiled  en- 
able the  writer  to  estimate  with  confidence  the  number  and 
amount  drawn  otherwise;  and  he  calculates  that  the  entire  num- 
ber, for  not  quite  one  year,  of  such  Bills,  is  24,000,  and  the  amount 
£125,000,  or,  on  an  average,  £5  4s.  2d.  each.  Tliey  are  sent  from 
husband  to  wife,  from  ^ather  to  child,  from  child  to  father,  mother 
and  grand-parents,  ^rom  sister  to  brother,  and  the  reverse;  and 
from  and  to  those  united  by  all  the  tics  of  b’ood  and  friendship 
’that  bind  us  together  on  earth. 

In  the  list,  you  will  observe  that  these  offerings  of  affection  are 
classed  according  to  the  parts  of  Ireland  they  are  drawn  upon, 
and  you  will  find  tnat  they  are  not  confined  to  one  spot  of  it,  but 
are  general  as  regards  the  whole  country.” — Ireland^  its  Ptemd 
Co^tdiUon  and  Future  Pro'^peeP.  In  a letter  addressed  to  the  Right 
Honourable  Sir  Robert  Ped,  Baronet,  bu  R hert  Murray^  Esq.  Bub- 
lin  : James  M'  Glashan,  21  i>’  Oiler  street^  1847. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


451 


We  trust  the  reader  may  understand  what  the 
condition  of  the  country,  at  the  period  of  our  narra- 
tive to  which  we  refer,  must  have  been,  when  such 
multitudes  as  we  have  described  rushed  to  our  great 
seapoils  in  order  to  emigrate ; the  worst  feature  in 
this  annual  movement  being  that,  whilst  the  decent, 
the  industrious,  and  the  moral,  all  influenced  by 
creditable  motives,  went  to  seek  independence  in  a 
distant  land,  the  idle,  the  ignorant,  and  the  desti- 
tute necessarily  remain  at  home — all  as  a burthen, 
and  too  many  of  them  as  a disgrace  to  the  country. 

Our  friends  the  M’Mahons,  urged  by  motives  at 
once  so  strong  and  painful,  were  not  capable  of  re- 
sisting the  contagion  for  emigration  which,  under 
the  circumstances  we  have  detailed,  was  so  rife 
among  the  people.  It  was,  however,  on  their  part 
a distre^ising  and  mournful  resolve.  From  the  mo- 
ment it  was  made  a gloom  settled  upon  the  whole 
family.  Nothing  a few  months  before  had  been  far- 
ther from  their  thoughts ; but  now  there  existed 
such  a combination  of  arguments  for  their  depar- 
ture, as  influenced  Bryan  and  his  father,  in  spite  of 
their  hereditary  attachment  to  Ahadarra  and  Carri- 
glass.  Between  them  and  the  Cavanaghs  ever  since 
Gerald  had  delivered  Kathleen’s  message  to  Bryan 
there  was  scarcely  any  intercourse.  Hanna,  ’tis 
true,  and  Dora  had  an  opportunity  of  exchanging  a 
few  words  occasionally,  but  although  the  former 
felt  much  anxiety  for  a somewhat  lengthened  and  if 
possible  confidential  conversation  with  her  sparkling 
little  friend,  yet  the  latter  kept  proudly  if  not  haught- 
ily silent  on  one  particular  subject,  feeling  as  she 


452 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


did,  that  anything  like  a concession  on  her  part  was 
humiliating,  and  might  be  misconstrued  into  a dis- 
position to  compromise  the  independence  of  her  bro- 
ther and  family.  But  even  poor  Dora,  notwithstand- 
ing her  affectionate  heart  and  high  spirit,  had  her 
own  sorrows  to  contend  with,  sorrows  known  only 
to  her  brother  Bryan,  who  felt  disposed  to  befriend 
her  in  them  as  far  as  he  could.  So  indeed  would 
every  one  of  the  family  had  they  known  them,  for 
we  need  scarcely  say  that  the  warm  and  generous 
girl  was  the  centre  in  which  all  their  affections  met. 
And  this  indeed  was  only  justice  to  her,  inasmuch 
as  she  was  willing  on  any  occasion  to  sacrifice  her 
interests,  her  wishes,  or  anything  connected  with 
her  own  welfare,  to  their  individual  or  general  hap- 
piness. We  have  said,  however,  that  she  had  her 
own  sorrows,  and  this  was  true.  From  the  moment 
she  felt  assured  that  their  emigration  to  America 
was  certain,  she  manifested  a depression  so  profound 
and  melancholy,  that  the  heart  of  her  brother 
Bryan,  who  alone  knew  its  cause,  bled  for  her. 
This  by  the  rest  of  the  family  was  imputed  to  the 
natural  regret  she  felt,  in  common  with  themselves, 
at  leaving  the  old  places  for  ever,  with  this  differ- 
ence to  be  sure — they  imagined  that  she  felt  the  sep- 
aration more  acutely  than  they  did.  Still,  as  the 
period  for  their  departure  approached,  there  was  not 
one  of  the  family,  notwithstandiiig  what  she  felt 
herself,  who  labored  so  incessantly  to  soothe  and 
sustain  the  spirits  of  her  father,  wlio  was  fast  sink- 
ing under  the  prospect  of  being  ‘‘  forever  removed,” 
as  he  said,  “from  the  places  bis  heart  had  grown 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


453 


into.”  She  was  in  fact  the  general  consoler  of  the 
family,  and  yet  her  eye  scarcely  ever  met  that  of 
her  brother  that  a tear  did  not  tremble  in  it,  and 
she  felt  disposed  to  burst  out  into  an  agony  of  unre- 
strained grief. 

It  was  one  evening  in  the  week  previous  to  their 
departure,  that  she  was  oti  her  return  from  Bally- 
macan,  when  on  passing  a bend  of  the  road  between 
Carriglass  and  Fenton’s  farm,  she  met  the  cause  of 
the  sorrow  which  oppressed  her,  in  the  handsome 
])erson  of  James  Cavanagh,  to  whom  she  had  been 
for  more  than  a year  and  a half  deeply  and  de- 
votedly attached,  but  without  the  knowledge  of  any 
individual  living,  save  her  lover  himself  and  her 
brotlier  Bryan. 

On  seeing  him  she  naturally  started,  but  it  was 
a start  of  pleasure,  and  she  felt  her  cheek  flush  and 
again  get  pale,  and  her  heart  palpitated,  then  was 
still  a moment,  and  again  resumed  its  tumultuous 
})ulsations. 

“ Blessed  be  God,  my  darlin’  Dora,  that  I’ve  met 
you  at  last,”  said  James;  “in  heaven’s  name  how 
did  it  happen  that  we  haven’t  met  for  such  a length 
of  time?  ” 

“I’m  sure  that’s  more  than  I can  tell,”  replied 
Dora,  “ or  rather  it’s  what  you  and  both  I know  the 
cause  of  too  well.” 

“ Ah,  poor  Dora,”  he  exclaimed,  “for  your  sake 
I don’t  Vrdsh  to  spake  about  it  at  all ; it  left  me 
many  a sore  heart  when  I thought  of  you.” 

Dora’s  natural  pale  cheek  mantled,  and  her  eyes 
deepened  with  a beautiful  severity,  as  she  hastily 


454 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


turned  them  on  him  and  said,  “ what  do  you  mane, 
James  ?” 

“ About  poor  Bryan’s  conduct  at  the  election,”  he 
replied,  “ and  that  fifty-pound  note;  and  may  hell 
consume  it  and  Inm  that  tempted  him  with  it ! ” 

“ Do  you  forget,”  she  said,  “ that  you’re  spaking 
to  his  sister  that  knows  the  falsehood  of  it  all ; an’ 
how  dare  you  in  my  presence  attempt  to  say  or 
think  that  Bryan  M’Mahon  would  or  could  do  a 
mane  or  dishonest  act?  I’m  afeard,  James,  there’s 
a kind  of  low  suspicion  in  your  family  that’s  not 
right,  and  I have  my  reasons  for  thinking  so.  I fear 
there’s  a want  of  true  generosity  among  you;  and 
if  I could  be  sure  of  it,  I tell  you  now,  that  whatever 
it  might  cost  me,  I’d  never — but  what  am  I sayia’  ? 
that’s  past.” 

“Past!  oh,  why  do  you  spake  that  way,  Dora 
dear?” 

“ It’s  no  matter  what  I may  suffer  myself,”  she  re- 
plied ; “ no  matter  at  all  about  that ; but  wanst  and 
for  ail,  I tell  you  that  let  what  may  happen.  I’m  not 
the  girl  to  go  into  a family  that  have  treated  my 
dear  brother  as  yours  has  done.  Your  sister’s  con- 
duct has  been  very  harsh  and  cruel  to  the  man  she 
was  to  be  married  te.” 

“ My  sister,  Dora,  never  did  anything  but  what 
was  right.” 

“ Well,  then,  let  her  go  and  marry  the  Pope,  with 
reverence  be  it  spoken,  for  I don’t  know  any  other 
husband  that’s  fit  for  her.  I’d  like  to  see  the  girl 
that  never  did  anything  wrong ; it’s  a sight  I never 
saw  yet,  I know.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


455 


“Dora,  dear,”  replied  her  lover,  “I  don’t  blame 
you  for  being  angry.  I know  that  such  a load  of 
disgrace  upon  any  family  is  enough  to  put  one  past 
their  temper.  I don’t  care  about  that,  however,” 
he  proceeded;  “if he  had  betrayed  his  church  and 
his  country  ten  times  over,  an’  got  five  hundred 
pounds  instead  of  fifty,  it  wouldn’t  prevent  me  from 
makin’  you  my  wife.” 

Her  eyes  almost  emitted  fire  at  this  unconscious- 
Iv  offensire  lanojuage  of  Cavanagh.  She  calmed 
herself,  however,  and  assumed  a manner  that  was 
cool  and  cuttingly  ironical. 

“Wouldn’t  you,  indeed?”  she  replied;  “dear 
me!  T have  a right  to*  be  proud  of  that;  and  so 
you’d  be  mane  enough  to  marry  into  a family 
blackened  by  disgrace,  I thought  you  had  some 
decent  pride,  James.” 

“Butyow  have  done  nothing  wrong,  Dora,”  he 
replied;  “you’re  free  from  any  blame  of  that  kind.” 

“I  have  done  nothing  wrong,  haven’t  I?”  she 
returned,  “ Ay,  a thousand  things — for,  thank  God, 
I’m  not  infallible  like  your  sister.  Haven’t  I sup- 
ported my  brother  in  every  tiling  he  did  ? and  I 
tell  you  that  if  I had  been  in  his  place  I’d  just  ’a’ 
done  what  he  did. . What  do  you  think  o’  me 
now  ? ” 

“ Why,  that  every  word  you  say,  and  every  lively 
look — ay,  or  angry  if  you  like — that  you  give — 
makes  me  love  you  more  and  more.  An’  plase  God, 
mv  dear  Dora,  I hope  soon  to  see  you  my  own  dar- 
lin’  wife.” 

“That’s  by  no  means  a certain  affair,  James; 


456 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


an’  don’t  rely  upon  it.  Before  ever  I become  your 
wife  Kathleen  must  change  her  conduct  to  my 
brollier.” 

‘‘Deed  and  I’m  afraid  that  she’ll  never  do,  Dora.” 

“Then  the  sorra  ring  ever  I’ll  put  on  you  while 
there’s  breath  in  my  body.” 

“ Why,  didn’t  she  give  him  three  months  to  clear 
himself?” 

“Did  she,  indeed?  And  do  you  think  that  any 
young  man  of  spirit  would  pay  attention  to  such  a 
stilted  prhle  as  that?  It  was  her  business  to  send 
for  him  face  to  face,  and  to  say — ‘Bryan  M’Mahon, 
I never  knew  you  or  one  of  your  family  to  tell  a lie 
or  do  a dishonest  or  disgraceful  act  ’ — and  here  as 
she  spoke  the  tears  of  that  ancient  integrity  and 
hereditary  pride  which  are  more  precious  relics  in 
a family  than  the  costlies  jewels  that  ever  spark- 
led in  the  sun,  sprang  from  her  eyes — ‘ and  now, 
Bryan  M’Mahon,  I ax  no  man’s  word  but  your  own 
— I ax  no  other  evidence  but  your  own — I put  it 
to  your  conscience — to  that  honor  that  has  never 
yet  been  tarnished  by  any  of  your  family,  I say  I 
put  it  to  yourself,  here  face  to  face  with  the  girl 
that  loves  you — and  answ^er  me  as  you  are  in  the 
presence  of  God — did  you  do  what  they,  charge  you 
with  ? .Did  you  do  wrong  knowdngly  and  deliber- 
ately, and  against  your  own  conscience?’  ” 

Tfie  animated  sparkle  of  her  face  w^as  so  delight- 
ful and  fascinating  that  her  lover  attempted  to  press 
her  to  his  bosom;  but  she  would  not  suffer  it. 

“ Behave  now,”  she  said  firmly;  “ oorra  bit — no^’ 
she  proceeded;  “and  whilst  all  the  world  w^as 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


457 


against  him,  runnin’  him  down  and  blackenin’  him 
— was  slie  ever  the  girl  to  stand  up  behind  his  back 
and  defend  him  like  a — hem — defend  him,  I say,  as 
a girl  timt  loved  him  ought,  and  a generous  girl 
would?” 

‘‘  Bat  how  could  she  when  she  believed  him  to  be 
wrong  ? ” 

Why  did  she  believe  him  to  be  wrong  upon 
mere  hearsay  ? and  granting  that  he  was  wrong! 
do  you  think  now  if  you  had  done  what  they  say  he 
did,  (and  they  lie  that  say  it),  aii’  that  I heard  the 
world  down  on  you  for  your  first  slip,  do  you  think, 
I say,  that  I’d  not  defend  you  out  of  clane  contrari- 
ness,— and  to  vex  them — ay,  w^ould  1.” 

“ 1 know,  darlin’,  that  you’d  do  everything  that’s 
generous  an’  right;  but  settin’  that  affair  aside,  my 
dear  Dora,  what  are  ymu  and  I to  do  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  what  we’re  to  do,”  she  replied ; 
“ it’s  useless  for  you  to  ax  me  from  my  father  now ; 
for  he  wouldn’t  give  me  to  you,— sorra  bit.” 

“But  you’ll  give  me  yourself,  Dora,  darling.” 

“Not  without  his  consent,  no  nor  with  it, — as  the 
families  stand  this  moment ; for  I tell  you  again  that 
the  sorra  ring  ever  I'll  put  on  you  till  your  sister 
sends  for  my  brother,  axes  his  pardon,  and  makes 
up  with  liiin,  as  slie  o«igiit  to  do.  Oh  why,  James 
dear,  should  she  be  so  harsh  upon  him,”  she  said, 
softening  at  once;  “she  that  is  so  good  an’  so  fault- 
less afiher  all  ? but  I suppose  that’s  the  raison  of  it 
— she  doesn’t  know  what  it  is  to  do  anything  that’s 
not  right.” 

“Dora,”  said  her  lover,  “ don’t  be  harsh  on  Kath- 
20 


458 


THE  EMIGPwANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


leen ; you  don’t  know  what  she’s  sufferin’.  Dora, 
her  heart’s  broke — broke.” 

The  tears  were  already  upon  Dora’s  cheeks,  and 
her  lover,  too,  was  silent  for,  a moment. 

“ She  has,”  resumed  the  warm  hearted  girl, 
neither  brother  nor  sister  that  loves  her,  or  can 
love  her,  better  than  I do,  afther  all.” 

‘‘But  in  our  case,  darling,  what’s  to  be  done?” 
he  asked,  drawing  her  gently  towards  hitn. 

“ I’ll  tell  you  then  what  I’d  recommend  you  to 
do,”  she  replied;  “spake  to  my  brother  Bryan,  and 
be  guided  by  him.  I must  go  now,  it’s  quite  dusk.” 

There  was  a moment’s  pause,  then  a gentle  remon- 
strance on  the  part  of  Dora,  followed,  however,  by 
that  soft  sound  which  proceeds  from  the  pressure  of 
youthful  lips — after  which  she  bade  her  lover  a hasty 
good-night  and  hurried  home. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


459 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  OLD  PLACES — DEATH  OF  A PATRIARCH. 

As  the  day  appointed  for  the  auction  of  the 
M’MaboiJs’  stock,  furniture,  &c.,  &c.,  at  Carriglass 
drew  near,  a spirit  of  deep  and  unceasing  distress 
settled  upon  the  whole  family.  It  had  not  been 
their  purpose  to  apprise  the  old  man  of  any  inten- 
tion on  their  part  to  emigrate  at  all,  and  neither 
indeed  had  they  done  so.  The  fact,  however,  reached 
him  from  the  neighbors,  several  of  whom,  ignorant 
that  it  was  the  wish  of  his  family  to  conceal  the  cir- 
cumstance from  him — at  least  as  long  as  they  could — 
entered  into  conversation  with  him  upon  it,  and  by 
this  means  he  became  acquainted  with  their  deter- 
mination. Age,  within  the  last  few  months — for  he 
was  now  past  ninety — had  made  sad  work  with 
both  his  frame  and  intellect.  Indeed,  for  some  time 
past,  he  might  be  said  to  hover  between  reason  and 
dotage.  Decrepitude  had  set  in  with  such  ravages 
on  his  constitution  that  it  could  almost  be  marked 
by  daily  stages.  Sometimes  he  talked  with  singular 
good  sense  and  feeling;  but  on  other  occasions  he 
either  babbled  quite  heedlessly,  or  his  intellect 
would  wander  back  to  scenes  and  incidents  of  earlier 
life,  many  of  which  he  detailed  with  a pathos  that 
was  created  and  made  touching  by  the  unconscious- 
ness of  his  own  state  while  relating  them.  Tney 
also  observed  that  of  late  he  began  to  manifest  a 


460 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


cliild-like  cunning  in  many  things  connected  with 
liiraself  and  family,  which,  though  amusing  from  its 
very  simplicity,  afforded  at  the  same  time  a certain 
indication  that  the  good  old  grandfather  whom  they 
all  loved  so  well,  and  whose  benignant  character 
had  been  only  mellowed  by  age  into  a more  plastic 
affection  for  them  all,  was  soon  to  be  removed  from 
before  their  eyes,  never  again  to  diffuse  among  them 
that  charm  of  domestic  truth  and  love,  and  the  holy 
influences  of  all  those  fine  old  virtues  which  ancestral 
integrity  sheds  over  the  heart,  and  transmits  pure 
and  untarnished  fj’om  generation  to  generation. 

On  the  day  he  made  the  discovery  of  their  inten- 
tion, he  had  been  sitting  on  a bench  in  the  garden, 
a favorite  seat  of  his  for  many  a long  year  previous- 
ly ; “ And  so,”  said  he  to  the  neighbor  with  whom 
he  had  been  speaking,  “ you  tell  me  that  all  our 
family  is  goin’  to  America?  ” 

“ Why,  dear  me,”  replied  his  acquaintance,  “ is  it 
possible  you  didn’t  know  it  ? ” 

“Ha  ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ I undherstand  now  why 
they  used  to  be  whisperin’  together  so  often,  and 
lookin’ at  me;  but  indeed  they  might  spake  loud 
enough  now,  for  I’m  so  deaf  that  I can  hardly  hear 
anything.  Howaniver,  Ned,  listen — they  all  intend 
to  go,  you  say;  now  listen,  I say — I know  one  that 
won’t  go;  now,  do  you  hear  that?  You  needn’t 
say  anything  about  it,  but  this  I tell  you — listen  to 
me,  what’s  your  name  ? Barney,  is  it  ? ” 

“Why,  is  it  possible,  you  don’t  know  Ned  Gorm- 
ley?” 

“Ay,  Ned  Gormley — och,  so  it  is.  Well  listen, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


461 


Ned — there’s  one  they  won’t  bring  ; I can  tell  you 
that — the  sorra  foot  ever  I’ll  go  to— to — where’s 
this  you  say  they’re  goin’  to,  Jemmy?” 

Gormley  shook  his  head.  “Poor  Bryan,”  said  he, 
“it’s  nearly  all  over  wid  you,  at  any  rate.  To 
America,  Bryaw,”  he  repeated,  in  a loud  voice. 

“ Ay,  to  America.  Well,  the  sorra  foot  ever  I’ll 
go  to  America — that  one  thing  I can  tell  them.  I'm 
goin’  in.  Oh  ! never  mind,”  he  exclaimed,  on  Gorm- 
ley offering  him  assistance,  “ I’rn  stout  enough  still ; 
stout  an’ active  still ; as  soople  as  a two-year-ould, 
thank  God.  Don’t  I bear  up  wonderfully  ?” 

“Well  indeed  you  do,  Bryan;  it  is  wonderful, 
sure  enough.” 

In  a few  minutes  they  arrived  at  the  door;  and 
the  old  man,  recovering  as  it  were  a portion  of  his 
former  intellect,  said,  “lavin’  this  place — these 
houses — an’  goin’  away — far,  far  away — to  a strange 
country — to  strange  people ! an’  to  bring  me,  the 
ould  white-haired  grandfather,  away  from  all!  that 
would  be  cruel;  but  my  son  Tom  will  never  do  it.” 

“ Well,  at  any  rate,  Bryan,”  said  his  neighbor, 
“ whether  you  go  or  stay,  God  be  wid  you.  It’s  a 
pity,  God  knows,  that  the  like  of  you  and  your  family 
should  leave  the  country  ; and  sure  if  the  landlord, 
as  th(*y  say,  is  angry  about  it,  why  doesn’t  he  do 
what  he  ought  to  do?  an’  why  does  he  allow  that 
smooth  tongued  rap  to  lead  him  by  the  nose  as  he 
does?  Howandiver,  as  I said,  whether  you  go  or 
stay,  Bryan,  God  be  wid  you  ! ” 

During  all  that  morning  Thomas  M’Mahon  had 
been  evidently  sulfering  very  deeply  from  a contern- 


462 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


plation  of  the  change  that  was  about  take  place  by 
the  departure  of  himself  and  his  family  from  Carri- 
glass.  He  had  been  silent  the  greater  part  of  the 
morning,  and  not  unfrequently  forced  to  give  away 
to  tears,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  his  daughters? 
with  the  exception  of  Dora,  who,  having  assumed 
the  office  of  comforter,  felt  herself  bound  to  maintain 
the  appearance  of  a firmness  which  she  did  not  feck 
In  this  mood  he  was  when  “grandfather,”  as  they 
called  him,  entered  the  house,  after  having  been 
made  acquainted  with  their  secret.  “ Tom,”  said  he, 
approaching  his  son,  “sure  you  wouldn’t  go  to  bring 
an  ould  man  away?”  ' 

“Where  to,  father?”  asked  the  other,  a good 
deal  alarmed. 

“ Why  to  America,  where  you’re  all  goin’  to.  Oh ! 
surely  you  wouldn’t  bring  the  old  man  away  from 
the  green  fields  of  Carriglass  ? Would  you  lay  my 
white  head  in  a strange  land,  an’  among  a strange 
people?  Would  you  take  poor  ould  grandfather 
away  from  them  that  expects  him  down,  at  Carndhu 
where  they  sleep?  Carndhu’s  a holy  churchyard. 
Sure  there  never  was  a Protestant  buried  in  it  but 
one,  an’  the  next  mornin’  there  was  a boortree  bush 
growin’  out  o’  the  grave,  an’  it’s  there  yet,  to  prove 
the  maricle. • Oh!  ay,  Crandhu’s  holy  ground,  an’ 
that’s  where  I must  sleep.” 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a tone  of  such 
earnest  and  childlike  entreaty  as  rendered  them  af- 
fectii  g in  a most  extraordinary  degree,  and  doubly 
so  to  those  who  heard  him.  Thomas’s  eyes,  despite 
of  every  effort  to  the  contrary,  filled  with  tears. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OP  AHADARRA. 


463 


Ah  ! ’’  he  exclaimed,  “ he  has  found  it  out  at  last; 
but  how  can  I give  him  consolation,  an’  I stands  in 
need  of  it  so  much  myself!  ” 

“ Father,”  said  he,  rising  and  placing  the  old  man 
in  the  arm-chair,  which  for  the  last  half  century  had 
been  his  accustomed  seat,  “father  we  will  go  togeth- 
er— we  will  all  be  wid  you.  You‘11  not  be  among 
strangers — you’ll  have  your  own  about  you  still.” 

“But  what’s  takin’  you  all  away?” 

“Neglect  and  injustice,  an’ the  evil  tongues  of 
them  that  ought  to  know  us  betther.  The  landlord 
didn’t  turn  out  to  be  what  he  ought  to  be.  May 
God  forgive  him  ! But  at  any  rate  I’m  sure  he  has 
been  misled.” 

“Quid  Clievydale,”  said  his  father,  “ never  was  a 
bad  landlord,  an’  he’d  not  become  a bad  one  now. 
That’s  not  it.” 

“ But  the  ould  man’s  dead,  father,  an’  it’s  his  son 
we’re  spakin’  of.” 

“ And  the  son  of  ould  Chevydale  must  have  some- 
thing  good  about  him.  The  heart  was  always  right 
wid  his  father,  an’  every  one  knows  there’s  a great 
deal  in  true  blood.  Sooner  or  later  it’ll  tell  for 
itself — but  what  is  this  ? There  was  something 
troublin’  me  this  minute.  Oh  ! ay,  you’re  goin’ 
away,  then,  to  America;  but,  mark  my  words: — I 
won’t  go.  You  may,  but  IHl  stay  here.  I won’t 
lave  the  green  fields  of  Carriglass  for  any 
one.  It’s  not  much  I’ll  be  among  them  now,  an’  it 
isn’t  worth  your  while  to  take  me  from  them.  Here’s 
where  I was  born — here’s  where  the  limbs  that’s  now 
Btifi  an’  feeble  was  wanst  young  and  active — 


464 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


here’s  where  the  hair  that’s  white  as  snow  was  fair 
an’  curlin’  like  goold — here's  where  I was  young — 
here’s  were  I grew  ould — among  these  dark  hills 
and  green  fields — here  you  all  know  is  where  I was 
born  ; and,  in  spite  o’  you  all,  here’s  where  I’ll 
die.” 

The  old  man  was  much  moved  by  all  these  recol- 
lections ; for,  as  he  proceeded  the  tears  fell  fast  from 
his  aged  eyes,  and  his  voice  became  tremulous  and 
full  of  sorrow. 

“ AVasn’t  it  here,  too,”  he  proceeded,  ‘‘that  Peggy 
Slevin,  she  that  was  famed  far  an’  near  for  her 
beauty,  and  that  the  sweet  song  was  made  upon — 
‘ Peggy  JSTa  Laveen  ’ — ay — ay,  you  may  think  your- 
selves fine  an’  handsome ; but,  where  was  there  sich 
a couple  as  grandfather  and  Peggy  Na  Laveen  was 
then  ?” 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  his  features  that  had 
been  impressed  by  grief,  were  lit  up  by  a smile  of 
that  simple  and  harmless  vanity  which  often  attends 
us  to  the  very  grave;  after  which  he  proceeded, — 

“ There,  on  the  side  of  that  hill  is  the  roofiess 
house  where  she  was  born  ; an’  there’s  not  a field  or 
hill  about  the  place  that  her  feet  didn’t  make  holy  to 
me.  I remember  her  well.  I see  her,  an’  I think 
I hear  her  voice  on  the  top  of  Lisbane,  ringin’ 
sweetly  across  the  valley  of  the  Mountain  Wather, 
as  I often  did.  An’  is  it  to  take  me  away  now  from  all 
this  ? Oh!  no,  childre’,  the  white-haired  grandfather 
couldn’t  go.  He  couldn’t  lave  the  ould  places — the 
ould  places.  If  he  did,  he’d  die — he’d  die.  Oh, 
don’t  for  God’s  sake,  Tom,  as  you  love  me  ! ” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


465 


There  was  a spirit  of  helpless  entreaty  in  these 
la5»t  words  that  touched  his  son,  and  indeed  all  who 
heard  him,  to  the  quick. 

“ Grandfather  dear,  be  quiet,”  he  replied ; “ God 
M-ill  direct  all  things  for  the  best.  Don’t  cry,”  he 
added,  for  the  oM  rafan  was  crying  like  an  infant; 
“don’t  cry,  but  be  quiet,  and  everything  will  be 
well  in  time.  It’s  a great  trial,  I know;  but  any 
change  is  better  than  to  remain  here  till  we  come, 
like  so  many  others,  to  beggary.  God  will  support 
us,  father.” 

The  old  man  wiped  his  eyes,  and  seemed  as  if  he 
had  taken  comfort  from  the  words  of  his  son; 
whereas,  the  fact  was,  that  his  mind  had  altogether 
passed  from  the  subject;  but  not  without  that  un- 
conscious feeling  of  pain  which  frequently  remains 
after  the  recolleciion  of  that  which  has  occasioned 
it  has  passed  away. 

It  was  evident,  from  the  manner  of  the  old  man, 
that  the  knowledge  of  their  intended  emigration  had 
alarmed  into  action  all  the  dormant  instincts  of  his 
nature ; but  this  was  clearly  more  than  they  were 
competent  to  sustain  for  any  length  of  time.  Neither 
the  tottering  frame,  nor  the  feeble  mind  was  strong 
enough  to  meet  the  shock  which  came  so  unexpect- 
edly upon  them.  The  consequence  may  be  easily 
anticipated.  On  the  following  day  he  was  able  to 
be  up  only  for  an  hour  ; yet  he  was  not  sick,  nor  did 
he  Ci)mphiin  of  any  particular  pain.  His  only 
malady  appeared  to  consist  in  that  last  and  general 
prostration  of  bodily  and  intellectual  strength,  by 
which  persons  of  extreme  old  age,  who  have  enjoyed 


466 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


uninterrupted  health,  are  affected  at,  or  immediately 
preceding  their  dissolution.  His  mind,  however, 
though  wandering  and  unsteady,  was  vigorous  in 
such  manifestations  as  it  made.  For  instance,  it 
seemed  to  be  impressed  by  a twofold  influence, — the 
memory  of  his  early  life, — mingled  with  a vague  per- 
ception of  present  anxiety,  the  cause  of  which  he  oc- 
casionally was  able  to  remember,  but  as  often  tried 
to  recollect  in  vain. 

On  the  second  day  after  his  discovery  he  was  un- 
able to  rise  at  all;  but  as  before  he  complained  of 
nothing,  neither  were  his  spirits  depressed.  On  the 
contrary  they  were  rather  agitated — sometimes  into 
cheerfulness,  but  more  frequently  into  an  expression 
of  sorrow  and  lamentation,  which  w’ere,  however, 
blended  with  old  by-gone  memories  that  were  pecu- 
liarly afieeting  to  those  who  heard  them.  In  this 
way  he  went  on,  sinking  gradually  until  the  day 
previous  to  the  auction.  On  that  morning,  to  their 
surprise,  he  appeared  to  have  absolutely  regained 
new  strength,  and  to  have  been  gifted  with  some- 
thinglike renovated  power  of  speech. 

“I  want  to  get  up,”  said  he,  “and  it’s  only  Tom 
an’  Dora  that  I’ll  allow  to  help  me.  You’re  all 
good,  an’  wor  always  good  to  grandfather,  but  Tom 
was  my  best  son,  and  signs  on  it — everything  thruv 
wid  him,  an’  God  will  prosper  an’  bless  him.  W here’s 
Dora?” 

“ Here,  grandfather.” 

“ Ay,  that’s  the  voice  above  all  o’  them  that  went 
like  music  to  my  heart ; but  well  I know,  and 
always  did,  who  you  have  that  voice  from  ; ay,  an’ 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA.  46T 

I know  whose  eyes — an’  it’s  them  that’s  the  lovely 
eyes — Dora  has.  Isn’t  tlie  day  tine,  Dora?” 

“ It  is,  grandfather,  a beautiful  day.” 

“ Ay,  thank  God.  Well  then  I want  to  go  out 
till  I look — take  one  look  at  the  ould  places  ; for 
somehow  I think  ray  heart  was  never  so  much  in 
them  as  now,” 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  or  why  the  feeling 
prevailed,  but  the  fact  was,  that  the  whole  family 
were  impressed  with  a conviction  that  this  partial 
and  sudden  restoration  of  his  powers  was  merely 
what  is  termed  the  lightening  before  death,  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  every  word  he  spoke  occa- 
sioned their  grief,  for  the  loss  of  the  venerable  and 
virtuous  patriarch,  to  break  out  with  greater  force. 
When  lie  was  dressed  he  called  Dora  to  aid  her  fa- 
ther in  brincjinor  Inni  out,  which  she  did  with  stream- 
ing  eyes  and  sobbings  that  she  could  scarcely  re- 
strain. After  l)aving  reached  a little  green  emin- 
ence that  commanded  a glorious  view  of  the  rich 
country  beneath  and  around  them,  he  called  for  his 
chair;  ‘‘an’,  Bryan,”  said  he,  “the  manly  and  honest- 
hearted,  do  you  bring  it  to  me.  A blessin’  will  fol- 
ly  you,  Bryan — a blessin’  will  folly  my  manly 
grandson,  that  I often  had  a proud  heart  out  of. 
An’,  Bryan,”  he  proceeded,  when  the  latter  had  re- 
turned with  the  chair  and  placed  him  in  it,  “listen, 
Bryan — when  you  and  Kathleen  Cavanagh’s  mar- 
ried— but  I needn’t  say  it — where  was  there  one  of 
your  name  to  do  an  unmanly  thing  in  that  respect? 
— but  when  you  and  Kathleen’s  married,  be  to  her 
as  your  own  father  was  to  her  that’s  gone — 


468 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


ever  and  always  kind  and  lovin’,  an’  what  your 
grandfather  that’s  now  spaking  to  you,  maybe  for 
the  last  time,  was  to  her  that’s  long,  long  an  ang<d 
in  heaven — my  own  Peggy  Slevin — butit’sthe  Irish 
sound  of  jit  I like — Peggy  Na  Laveen,  Bring 
them  all  out  here — but  what  is  this? — why  are  you 
allcryin’?  Sure  there’s  nothing  wrong — an’  why 
do  you  cry  ?” 

The  other  members  of  the  family  then  assem- 
bled with  tearfulTaces,  and  the  good  old  man  pro- 
ceeded : — 

“ Thomas  M’Mah on,  stan^  before  me.”  The  lat- 
ter, with  uncovered  head,  did  so;  and  his  father  re- 
sumed : — “Thomas  M’Mahon,  you’re  the  only  livin’ 
son  I have,  an’  I’m  now  makin’  my  Will.  I lave 
this  farm  of  Carriglass  to  you,  while  you  live,  wid 
all  that’s  on  it  and  in  it — that  is,  that  I have  any 
right  to  lave  you — I lave  it  to  you  wid  my  blessin’, 
and  may  God  grant  you  long  life  and  health  to  en- 
joy it.  Ahadarra  isn’t  mine  to  give,  but,  Bryan, 
it’s  yours  ; an’  as  I said  to  your  father,  God  grant 
you  health  and  long  life  to  enjoy  it,  as  he  will  to 
both  o’  you.” 

“Oh!  little  you  know,  grandfather  dear,”  re- 
plied Shibby,  “ that  we’ve  done  wid  both  of  them 
for  ever.” 

“ Shibby,  God  bless  you,  achora,”  he  returned ; 
“but  the  ould  man’s  lips  can  spake  nothing  now 
but  the  truth  ; an’  my  blessin’  an’  my  wish,  cornin’ 
from  the  Almighty  as  they  do,  won’t  pass  away  like 
common  words.”  He  then  paused  for  a few  minutes. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


469 


but  appeared  to  take  a comprehensive  view  of  the 
surrounding  country. 

“But  grandfather,”  proceeded  simple-hearted 
Sljibby,  “sure  the  match  between  Bryan  and  Kath- 
leen Cavanagh  is  broken  up,  an’  they’re  not  to  be 
married  at  ail.” 

“Don’t  I say,  darlin’,  that  they  will  be  married, 
an’  be  happy — ^ay,  an’  may  God  make  them  happy  ! 
as  he  will,  blessed  be  His  holy  name ! God, 
acushla,  can  bring  about  everything  in  His  own  good 
way.” 

After  another  pause  of  some  minutes  he  murmur- 
ed. to  himself — “Peggy  Na  Laveen — Peggy  Na  La- 
veen — how  far  that  name  has  gone  ! Turn  me 
round  a little.  What  brought  us  here,  childre’? 
Oh ! ay — I wanted  to  see  the  ould  places^ — there’s 
Claglileim,  where  the  walls  of  the  house  she  was 
born  in,  and  the  green  garden,  is  botli  to  the  fore ; 
yet  I hope  they  won’t  be  disturbed,  if  it  was  only 
for  the  sake  of  them  that’s  gone  ; an’  there’s  the 
rock  on  the  top  of  Lisbane,  where,  in  the  summer 
evening,  long,  long  ago,  I used  to  sit  an’  listen  to 
Peggy  Na  Laveen  singin’  over  our  holy  songs  — 
the  darliii’  ould  songs  of  the  counthry.  Oh  ! clear 
an’  sweet  they  used  to  ring  across  the  glen  of  the 
Mountain  Wather.  An’  there’s  the  hills  an’  the 
fields  where  she  an’  I so  often  sported  when  we  wor 
both  young;  there  they  are,  an’  many  a happy  day 
we  had  on  them  ; but  sure  God  was  good  to  us, 
blessed  be  His  name,  as  He  ever  will  be  to  them 
that’s  obadient  to  His  holy  will  !” 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words  he  clasped  his  two 


470 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


hands  together  and,  having  closed  his  eyes,  he 
muttered  something  internally  which  they  could 
not  understand.  “ Now%”  said  he,  “bring  me  in 
again  ; I have  got  my  last  look  at  them  all— the 
ould  places,  the  brave  ould  places ! oh,  who  w^ould 
lave  them  for  any  other  country  ? But  at  any  rate, 
Tom,  achora,  don’t  take  me  away  from  them  ; sure 
you  wouldn’t  part  me  from  the  green  fields  of  Car- 
riglass  ? Sure  you’d  not  take  me  from  the  blessed 
graveyard  of  Carndhu,  where  we  all  sleep?  I 
couldn’t  rest  in  a sthrange  grave,  nor  among  strange 
people ; I couldn’t  rest,  barrin’  I’m  wid  her^ 

Na  Laveen?'*  These  words  he  uttered  after  his  re- 
turn into  the  house. 

“Grandfather,”  said  Bryan,  “make  your  mind 
aisy ; we  wo7i^t  take  you  from  the  brave  ould  places, 
and  you  will  sleep  in  Carndhu  with  Peggy  Na  La- 
veen*  make  your  heart  and  mind  easy,  then,  for  you 
won  t be  parted.” 

He  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker,  and  a gleam 
of  exultation  and  delight  settled  upon  his  worn  but 
venerable  features;  nor  did  it  wholly  pass  away,  for, 
although  Ids  chin  sank  upon  his  breast,  yet  the  pla- 
cid expression  remained.  On  raising  his  head,  they 
perceived  that  this  fine  and  patriarchal  representa- 
tive of  the  truthful  integrity  and  simple  manners  of 
a bygone  class  had  passed  into  a life  where  neither 
age  nor  care  can  oppress  the  spirit,  and  from 
whose  enjoyment  no  fear  of  separation  can  ever  dis- 
turb it. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  describe  the  sorrow  which 
they  felt.  It  must  be  sufficient  to  say  that  seldom 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


471 


has  grief  for  one  so  far  advanced  in  years  been  so 
sincere  and  deep.  Age,  joined  to  the  knowledge  of 
Ids  affectionate  heart  and  many  virtues,  had  encircled 
him  with  a halo  of  love  and  pious  veneration  which 
caused  his  disappearance  from  among  them  to  be 
felt,  as  if  a lamb  of  simple  piety  and  unsullied  truth 
had  been  removed  from  their  path  for  ever. 

That,  indeed,  was  a busy  and  a melancholy  day 
with  the  M’Mahons  ; for,  in  addition  to  the  death  of 
the  old  grandfather,  they  were  obliged  to  receive 
farewell  visits  to  no  end  from  their  relations,  neigh- 
bors, and  acquaintances.  Indeed  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  a family  in  a state  of  greater  distress 
and  sorrow.  The  auction,  of  course,  was  postponed 
for  a week — that  is,  until  after  the  old  man’s  funeral 
— and  the  consequence  was  that  circumstances,  af- 
fecting the  fate  of  our  dramatis  personae^  had  time 
to  be  developed,  which  would  otherwise  liave  occur- 
red too  late  to  be  available  for  the  purposes  of  our 
narrative.  This  renders  it  necessary  that  we  should 
return  to  a period  in  it  somewhat  anterior  to  that 
at  which  we  have  now  ariived. 


472 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CONTAINING  A VARIETY  OF  MATTERS. 

Our  readers  cannot  have  forgotten  the  angry  dia- 
logue winch  Kate  Hogan  and  her  male  relations  in- 
dulged  ill  upon  the  misunderstanding  that  had  oc- 
curred between  the  Cavanaglis  and  M’Mahons,  and 
its  imputed  cause.  We  stated  at  the  time  that 
Hycy  Burke  and  the  Hogans,  together  with  a strange 
man  and  woman,  were  embarked  in  some  mysterious 
proceedings  from  which  botli  Kate  Hogan  and  Teddy 
Phats  had  been  excluded.  For  some  time,  both  be- 
fore and  after  that  night,  there  had  been,  on  the 
other  hand,  a good  deal  of  mysterious  communica- 
tion between  several  of  our  other  characters.  For 
instance,  Kate  Hogan  and  Nanny  Peety  had  had 
frequent  interview's,  to  w'hich,  in  the  course  of  time, 
old  Peety,  Teddy  Phats,  and,  after  liirn,  our  friend 
the  schoolmaster,  had  been  admitted.  Nanny  Peety 
had  also  called  on  Father  Magowan,  and,  after  him, 
upon  young  Clinton;  and  it  w^as  evident,  from  the 
result  of  her  disclosures  to  the  tw^o  latter,  that  they 
also  took  a warm  interest,  and  were  admitted  to  a 
participation  in,  the  councils  we  mention.  To  these 
proceedings  Clinton  had  not  been  long  privy  when 
he  began  to  communicate  with  Vanston,  w ho,  on 
his  part,  extended  the  mystery  to  Chevydale,  be- 
tween whom  and  himself  several  confidential  inter- 
views had  already  taken  place.  Having  thrown  out 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


473 


these  hints  to  our  readers,  we  beg  them  to  accom- 
pany us  once  more  to  the  parlor  of  Clinton  the  gua- 
ger  and  liis  nephew, 

“ So,  uncle,  now  that  you  have  been  promoted  to 
the  Supeivisorship,  you  abandon  the  farm;  you 
abandon  Ahadarra?” 

“ Why,  won’t  I be  out  of  the  district,  you  block- 
head ? and  you  persist  in  refusing  it  besides.” 

“Most  positively;  but  I always  suspected  that 
Fethertonge  was  a scoundrel,  as  his  conduct  in  that 
very  business  with  you  was  a proo — hem,  a-hem.” 

“Go  on,”  said  the  uncle,  coolly,  “don’t  be  asham- 
ed, Harry;  I was  nearly  as  great  a scoundrel  in  that 
business  as  he  was.  I told  you  before  that  I look 
upon  the  world  as  one  great  pigeon,  which  every 
man  who  can,  without  exposing  himself  is  obliged  to 
pluck.  Now,  in  the  matter  of  the  farm,  I only  was 
about  to  pluck  out  a feather  or  two  to  put  in  my 
own  nest — or  yours,  if  you  had  stood  it.” 

“At  any  rate,  uncle,  I must  admit  that  you  are 
exceedingly  candid.” 

“No  such  thing,  you  fool;  there  is  scarcely  an 
atom  of  candor  in  my  whole  composition — I mean  to 
the  world,  whatever  I may  be  to  you.  Candor, 
Harry,  my  boy,  is  a virtue  which  very  few  in  this 
life,  as  it  goes,  can  afford  to  practice — at  least  I 
never  could.” 

“ Well  but,  uncle,  is  it  not  a pity  to  see  that  hon- 
est family  ruined  and  driven  out  of  the  country  by 
the  villany  of  Burke  on  the  one  h"<nd,  and  the  de- 
liberate fraud  and  corruption  of  Fethertonge,  on 
the  other.  However,  now  that  you  are  resolved  to 


il4 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


unmask  Fetbertonge,  I am  satisfied.  It’s  a proof 
that  you  don’t  wish  to  see  an  honest  fainilp  oppress- 
ed and  turned,  without  reasonable  compensation,  out 
of  their  property.” 

“It’s  a proof  of  no  such  thing,  I tell  you.  I don’t 
care  the  devil  had  the  M’Mahons  ; but  I am  bound 
to  this  ninnyhammer  of  a landlord,  who  has  got  me 
promoted,  and  who  promises,  besides,  to  get  an  ap- 
pointment for  you.  I cannot  see  him,  I say,  fleeced 
and  plucked  by  this  knavish  agent,  who  wdnds  him 
about  his  finger  like  a thread;  and,  as  to  those  poor 
honest  devils  of  M’Mahons,  stop  just  a moment  and 
I will  show  you  a document  that  may  be  of  some 
value  to  them.  You  see,  Fethertonge,  in  order  lo 
enhance  the  value  of  his  generosity  to  myself,  or,  to 
come  nearer  the  truth,  the  value  of  Ahadarra,  was 
the  means  of  placing  a document,  which  I will  im- 
mediately show  you,  in  my  hands.” 

He  went  to  his  office  or  study,  and,  after  some 
search,  returned  and  handed  the  other  a written 
promise  of  the  leases  of  Ahadarra  and  Carri glass,  re- 
spectively, to  Thomas  M’Mahon  and  his  son  Bryan, 
at  a certain  reasonable  rent  ofiered  by  each  for  their 
separate  holdings, 

“Now,”  he  proceeded,  “there’s  a document  which 
proves  Fethertonge,  notwithstanding  his  knavery, 
to  be  an  ass ; otherwise  he  would  have  reduced  it  to 
ashes  long  ago  ; and,  perhaps,  after  having  turned  it 
to  Ins  account,  he  would  have  done  so,  were  it  not 
that  I secured  it.  Old  Chevydale,  it  appears,  not 
satisfied  with  giving  his  bare  word,  strove  the  day 
before  he  died  to  reduce  his  promise  about  the  lease 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AH  AD  AREA. 


475 


to  writing,  which  he  did,  and  entrusted  it  to  the 
agent  for  the  M'Mahous,  to  whom,  of  course,  it  was 
never  given,” 

“ But  what  claim  had  you  to  it,  uncle  ? ” 

“ Simply,  if  lie  and  I should  ever  come  to  a mis- 
underslauding,  that  I might  let  him  know  he  was 
in  my  power,  by  exposing  his  straightforward  meth- 
ods of  business ; that’s  all.  However,  about  the  web 
that  this  fellow  Burke  has  thrown  around  these 
unfortunate  devils  the  M’Mahons,  and  those  other 
mighty  matters  that  you  told  of,  let  me  hear  exact- 
ly what  it  is  all  about  and  how  they  stand.  You 
say  there  is  likely  to  be  hanging  or  transportation 
among  them.” 

“ Why,  the  circumstances,  sir,  are  these,  as  nearly 
as  I am  in  possession  of  them  : — There  is  or  w^as,  at 
least  a day  or  two  ago,  a very  pretty  girl — ” 

“ Ay,  ay, — no  fear  but  there  must  be  that  in  it ; 
go  along.” 

“A  very  pretty  girl,  named  Nanny  Peety,  a ser- 
vant in  old  Jemmy  Burke’s,  Hycy’s  fatiier.  It 
appears  that  his  virtuous  son  Hycy  tried  all  the 
various  stratagems  of  which  he  is  master  to  debauch 
the  morals  of  this  girl,  but  without  success.  Her 
virtue  was  incorruptible,” 

“ A-hem  ! get  along,  will  you,  and  pass  that  over.” 

“ Well,  I know  that’s  another  of  your  crotchets, 
uncle ; but  no  matter,  I should  be  sorry,  from  respect 
to  my  mother’s  memory,  to  agree  with  you  there: 
however  to  proceed  ; this  Nanny  Peety  at  length — 
that  is  about  a week  ago — was  obliged  to  disclose 
to  her  father  the  endless  persecution  which  she  had 


4*76 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


to  endure  at  the  hands  of  Hycy  Burke  ; and  in  ad- 
dition to  that  disclosure,  came  another,  to  the  effect 
that  she  had  been  for  a considerable  period  aware 
of  a robbery  which  took  place  in  old  Burke’s — you 
may  remember  the  stir  it  made — and  which  robbery 
was  perpetrated  by  Bat  Hogan,  one  of  these  infam- 
ous tinkers  that  live  in  Gerald  Cavanagh’s  kiln,  and 
under  the  protection  of  his  family.  The  girl’s  father 
— who,  by  the  way,  is  no  other  than  the  little  black 
visaged  mendicant  who  goes  about  the  country — ” 

“1  know  him — proceed.” 

“ Her  father,  I say,  on  hearing  these  circumstances, 
naturally  indignant  at  Hycy  Burke  for  his  attempts 
to  corrupt  the  principles  of  his  daughter,  brought 
the  latter  with  him  to  Father  Magowan,  in  whose 
presence  she  stated  all  she  knew ; adding,  that  she 
liad  secured  Bat  Hogan’s  hat  and  shoes,  which,  in 
his  hurry,  he  had  forgotten  on  the  night  of  the  rob- 
bery. She  also  requested  the  priest  to  call  upon  me, 
‘as  she  felt  certain,’  she  said,  ‘in  consequence  of  a 
letter  of  Burke’s  which  I happened  to  see  as  she  car- 
ried it  to  the  post  office,  that  I could  throw  some 
light  upon  his  villainy.  He  did  so.’  It  was  on  that 
affair  the  priest  called  here  the  other  day,  and  I very 
candi«lly  disclosed  to  him  the  history  of  that  letter, 
and  its  effect  in  causing  the  seizure  of  the  distillery 
apparatus — the  fact  being  that  everything  was  got 
up  by  Hycy  himself — I mean  at  his  cost,  with  a 
view  to  ruin  M'Mahon.  And  this  I did  the  more 
readily,  as  the  scoutidrel  has  gone  far  to  involve  me 
in  the  conduct  imputed  to  M’^Mahon,  as  his  secret 
abettor  and  enemy.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


477 


“Well,”  observed  his  uncle,  “ all  that’s  a very 
pretty  affair  as  it  stands ; but  what  are  you  to  do 
next  ? ” 

“ There  is  worse  behind,  I can  assure  you,”  con- 
tinued his  nephew.  “ Hycy  Burke,  who  is  prover- 
bially extravagant,  having  at  last,  in  an  indirect 
way,  ruined  young  M’Mahon,  from  the  double 
motive  of  ill-will  and  a wish  to  raise  money  by  run- 
ning illicit  spirits — ” 

“The  d — d scoundrel!”  exclaimed  the  gnasrer, 
seized  with  a virtuous  fit  of  (professional)  indigna- 
tion, “that  fellow  would  scruple  at  nothing — pro- 
ceed.” 

“By  the  way,”  observed  the  other,  rather  mali- 
ciously, “he  made  a complete  tool  of  you  in  M’Ma- 
hon’s  afiair.” 

“He  did,  the  scoundrel,”  replied  his  uncle,  winc- 
ing a good  deal ; “ but,  as  the  matter  was  likely  to 
turn  up,  he  was  only  working  out  my  purposes.” 

“ He  is  in  a bad  mess  now,  however,”  continued 
his  nephew. 

“ Why,  is  there  worse  to  come  ? ” 

“ This  same  Nanny  Peety,  you  must  know,  is  a 
relative,  it  seems  to  Bat  Hogan’s  wife.  For  some 
time  past  there  has  come  a strange  man  named  Vin- 
cent, and  his  wife,  to  reside  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
this  fellow,  in  conjunction  with  the  Hogans,  was 
managing  some  secret  proceedings  which  no  one 
can  penetrate.  Now,  it  appears  that  Hogan’s  wife, 
who  has  been  kept  out  of  this  secret,  got  Nanny 
Peety  to  set  her  father  to  work  in  order  to  discover 


478 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


it.  Peeiy,  by  the  advice  of  IIo<2:an’s  wife,  called  in 
Teddy  Phat’s— ” 

‘‘ Whal’s  that?  Teddy  Phats?  Now,  by  the 
way,  Harry,  don’t  abuse  poor  Teddy.  You  will  be 
surprised,  Hal,  when  I tell  you  that  he  and  I have 
played  into  each  other’s  hands  for  years.  Yes,  my 
boy,  and  I can  assure  you  that,  owing  to  him,  both 
Fethertonge  and  I were  aware  of  IHcy  Burke’s  ))lot 
against  M’Mahon  long  before  he  set  it  agoing.  The 
fellow^,  however,  will  certainly  be  hanged  yet.” 

‘‘Faith,  sir,”  replied  Harry,  “ instead  of  being 
hanged  himself,  he’s  likely  to  hang  others.  In  con- 
sequence of  an  accidental  conversation  which  Teddy 
Piiats,  and  Finigan  the  tippling  schoolmaster  had, 
concerning  Vincent,  the  stranger  I spoke  of,  who,  it 
appears,  lives  next  to  Finigan’s  school-house,  Teddy 
discovered,  through  the  pedagogue,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  abroad  at  all  hpurs,  that  the  aforesaid  Vin- 
cent was  in  the  habit  of  going  up  every  night  to  the 
most  solitary  part  of  the  mountains,  but  for  what 
purpose,  except  upon  another  distillation  affair,  he 
could  not  say.” 

The  old  guager  or  supervisor,  as  he  now  consid- 
ered himself,  became  here  so  comically  excited — or, 
we  should  rather  say,  so  seriously  excited — that  it 
was  with  difficulty  the  nephew  could  restrain  his 
laugliter.  He  moved  as  if  his  veins  had  been  filled 
with  quicksilver,  his  eyes  brightened,  and  liis  natu- 
rally keen  and  knavish-looking  features  were  sharp- 
ened, as  it  were,  into  an  expression  so  acutely  sinis- 
ter, that  he  resembled  a staunch  old  hound  who 
comes  unexpectedly  upon  the  fresh  slot  of  a hare. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


479 


“ Well,”  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands — ‘‘  well,  go  on 
— what  happened?  Do  you  hear,  Harry?  What 
happened  ? Of  course  tliey’re  at  the  distillation 
again.  Don’t  you  hear  me,  I say?  What  was  the 
upsliot  ? ” 

“Why,  the  upshot  was,”  replied  the  other,  “ that 
nothing  of  sufficient  importance  has  been  discovered 
yet;  but  we  have  reason  to  suppose  that  they’re  en- 
gaged in  the  process  of  forgery  or  coining,  as  they 
were  in  that  of  illicit  distillation  under  the  patronage 
of  the  virtuous  Hycy  Burke,  or  Hycy  the  accom- 
plished, as  he  calls  himself.” 

“Tut,  tut!”  exclaimed  Clinton,  disappointed — 
“ so  after  all,  there  has  been  nothing  done  ? ” 

“Oh,  yes,  tiiere  has  been  something  done;  for 
instance,  all  these  matters  have  been  laid  before  Mr. 
Vanston,  and  he  has  had  two  or  three  interviews 
with  Chevydale,  in  whose  estimation  he  has  exone- 
rated young  M’Mahon  from  the  charge  of  bribery 
and  ingratitude.  Fethertonge  holds  such  a position 
now  with  his  employer  that  an  infant’s  breath  would 
almost  blow  him  out  of  liis  good  opinion.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what,  Harry,  I think  you  have  it  in 
hour  power  among  you  to  punish  these  rogues  ; and 
I think,  too,  it's  a pity  that  Fethertonge  should 
escape.  A breath  will  dislodge  him,  you  say;  but 
for  fear  it  should  not,  we  will  give  him  a breeze.” 

“ I am  to  meet  Vanston  at  Chevy  dale’s  by-and>by, 
uncle.  There’s  to  be  an  investigation  there ; 
and  by  the  way,  allow  me  to  bring  Hycy’s  anony- 
mous letter  with  me — it  may  serve  an  honest  man 


480 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


and  help  to  punish  a rogue.  What  if  you  would 
come  down  with  me,  and  give  him  the  breeze  ?” 

“Well,”  replied  the  uncle,  “for  the  novelty  of  the 
thing  I don’t  care  if  I d<).  I llke^  after  all^  to  see  a 
rogue  punished^  especially  when  he  is  not  prepared 
for  ity 

After  a little  delay  they  repaired  to  Chevydale’s 
house,  armed  with  Hycy’s  anonymous  letter  to  Clin- 
ton, as  well  as  with  the  document  wdiich  the  old 
squire,  as  he  was  called,  had  left  for  Tiiomas  M‘Ma- 
hon  and  his  son.  They  found  the  two  gentlemen 
on  much  better  terms  tlian  one  would  liave  expected  ; 
but,  in  reality,  the  state  of  the  country  was  such  as 
forced  them  to  open  their  eyes  not  merely  to  the 
lolly  of  harbouring  mere  political  resentments  or 
senseless  party  prejudices  against  each  other,  but  to 
the  absolute  necessity  that  existed  for  looking  closely 
into  the  state  of  their  property,  and  the  deplorable 
condition  to  which,  if  they  did  not  take  judicious 
and  decisive  steps,  it  must  eventually  be  reduced. 
They  now  began  to  discover  a fact  which  they 
ought,  long  since,  to  have  known — viz: — that  the 
condition  of  the  people  and  tliat  of  their  property 
was  one  and  the  same — perfectly  identical  in  all 
things;  and  that  a p jor  tenantry  never  yet  existed 
upon  a thriving  or  independent  estate,  or  one  that 
was  beneficial  to  the  landlord. 

Vanston  had  been  with  his  late  opponent  for  some 
time  before  the  arrival  of  Clinton  and  his  nephew; 
and,  as  their  conversation  may  not,  perhaps,  be 
without  some  interest  to  our  readers,  we  shall  detail 
a portion  of  it. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA.  481 

‘‘So,’’  said  Vanston,  “ you  are  beginning  to  feel 
tliat  tliere  is  something  wrong  on  your  property,  and 
that  your  agent  is  not  doing  you  justice  ? ” 

“ I have  reason  to  suspect,”  replied  Chevydale, 
“ that  he  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  feathering  his 
own  nest  at  the  expense  of  myself  and  my  tenantry. 
I cannot  understand  why  he  is  so  anxious  to  get  the 
M’Mahons  olf  the  estate ; a family  unquestionably 
of  great  honesty,  truth,  and  integrity,  and  who,  I 
believe,  have  been  on  the  property  before  it  came 
into  our  possession  at  all.  I feel — excuse  me,  Vans- 
ton, for  the  admission,  but  upon  my  honor  it  is  truth 
— I feel,  I say,  that,  in  the  matter  of  the  election — 
that  is,  so  far  as  M’Mahon  was  concerned,  he — my 
agent — made  a cat’s  paw  of  me.  lie  prevented  me 
from  supporting  young  M’Mahon’s  memorial ; he — 
he — prejudiced  me  against  the  family  in  several 
ways,  and  now,  that  I am  acquainted  with  the  cir- 
cumstances of  strong  and  just  indignation  against 
me  under  which  M'Mahon  voted,  I can’t  at  all  blame 
him.  I would  have  done  the  same  thing  myself.” 

“There  is  d d villany  somewhere  at  work,”  re- 

plied Vanston.  “ They  talk  of  a fifty-pound  note  that 
I am  said  to  have  sent  to  him  by  post.  Now,  I 
pledge  my  honor  as  an  honest  man  and  a gentleman, 
that  I have  sifted  and  examined  all  my  agents,  and 
am  salivsfied  that  he  never  received  a penny  from  me. 
Young  Burke  did  certainly  promise  to  secure  me  his 
vote  ; but  I have  discovered  Burke  to  be  a most  un- 
principled profligate,  corrupt  and  dishonest.  For, 
you  may  think  it  strange  that,  although  he  engaged 
to  procure  me  M’Mahon’s  vote,  M’Mahon  himself, 
21 


482 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


whom  I believe,  assured  me  that  he  never  even  asked 
him  for  it,  until  after  he  had  overheard,  in  the  head 
inn,  a conversation  concerning  himself  that  filled 
him  with  bitter  resentment  against  you  and  your 
agent.” 

“ I remember  it,”  replied  Chevydale,  “ and  yet  my 
agents  told  me  that  Burke  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  prevent  M’Mahon  from  voting  for  you.” 

“ That,”  replied  the  other,  “was  to  preserve  his 
own  character  from  the  charge  of  inconsistency  ; 
for,  I again  assure  you  that  he  had  promised  us 
M’Mahon’s  vote,  and  that  he  urged  him  privately 

to  vote  against  you.  But  d n the  scoundrel  he 

is  not  worth  the  conversation  Ve  had  about  him. 
Father  Magowan,  in  consequence  of  whose  note  to 
me  I wrote  to  ask  you  here,  states  in  the  communi- 
cation I had  from  him,  that  the  parties  will  be  here 
about  twelve  o’clock — Burke  himself,  he  thinks,  and 
M’Mahon  along  with  the  rest.  The  priest  wishes  to 
have  these  Hogans  driven  out  of  the  parish — a wish 
in  which  I most  cordially  join  him.  I hope  we 
shall  soon  rid  the  country  of  him  and  his  villanous 
associates.  Talking  of  the  country,  what  is  to  be 
done?” 

“Simply,”  replied  Chevydale,  “that  we, the  land- 
ed proprietors  of  Ireland,  should  awake  out  of  our 
slumbers,  and  forgetting  those  vile  causes  of  division 
and  subdivision  that  have  hitherto  not  only  dis- 
united us,  but  set  us  together  by  the  ears,  we  should 
take  counsel  among  ourselves,  and  after  due  and 
serious  deliberation,  come  to  the  determination  that 
it  is  our  duty  to  prevent  Irish  interests  from  being 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


483 


made  subservient  to  English  interests,  and  from 
being  legislated  for  upon  English  princi}»les.” 

“I  hope,  Chevydale,  you  are  not  about  to  become 
a Repealer.” 

‘‘No,  sir;  I am,  and  ever  have  been  sickened  by 
that  great  imposture.  Another  half  century  would 
scarcely  make  us  lit  for  liome  legislation.  When 
we  look  at  the  conduct  of  our  Irish  members  in  the 
British  Parliament — I allude  now,  with  few  excep- 
tions, to  the  Repeal  members — what  hope  can  we 
cTitertaiii  of  honesty  and  love  of  country  from  such 
men  ? When  we  look,  too,  at  many  of  our  Corpor- 
ations and  strike  an  average  of  their  honesty  and 
intellect,  have  we  not  a right  to  thank  God  that  the 
interests  of  our  country  are  not  confided  to  the 
management  of  such  an  arrogant,  corrupt,  and  vul- 
gar crew  as  in  general  compose  them.  The  truth 
is,  Yanston,  we  must  become  national  in  our  own 
defence,  and  whilst  we  repudiate,  with  a firm  con- 
viction of  i he  folly  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  dis- 
honesty on  the  other,  of  those  who  talk  about  Re- 
peal, we  shall  find  it  our  best  policy  to  forget  the 
interests  of  any  particular  class,  and  suffer  ourselves 
to  melt  down  into  one  great  principle  of  national 
love  and  good-will  towards  each  other.  Let  us 
only  become  unanimous,  and  England  will  respect 
us  as  she  did  when  we  were  unanimous  upon  other 
occasions.” 

“I  feel,  and  am  perfectly  sensible  of  the  truth  of 
what  you  say,”  replied  Yanston,  “and  I am  certain 
that,  in  mere  self-defence,  we  must  identify  ourselves 


484  thU  emigrants  of  ahadaiIra. 

with  the  people  whose  interests  most  unquestiona- 
bly are  ours.” 

“As  to  myself,”  continued  Chevydale,  “ I fear  I 
have  much  to  repair  in  my  conduct  as  an  Irish  land- 
lord. I have  been  too  confiding  and  easy — in  fact, 
I have  not  thought  for  niyself ; but  been  merely 
good  or  evil,  according  to  the  caprice  of  the  man 
who  managed  me,  and  whom,  up  until  now,  I did 
not  suspect.” 

“ Tiie  man,  my  good  friend,  is  probably  not  worse 
in  general  than  otliers,”  replied  Vanston  ; “but  the 
truth  is,  that  there  has  been  such  a laxity  of  man- 
agement in  Irish  property— such  indifference  and 
neglect  upon  our  part,  and  such  gross  ignorance  of 
our  duties,  that  agents  were,  and  in  most  cases  are, 
at  liberty  to  act  as  they  please  in  oitr  names,  and 
under  show  of  our  authority  ; you  can  scarcely  sup- 
pose this  man,  consequently,  much  worse  than 
others  who  are  placed  in  similar  circumstances.” 

The  dialogue  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  old  Clinton  and  his  nephew ; but,  as  our  readers 
are  already  in  possession  of  the  proofs  they  brought 
against  Hycy  Burke  and  Fethertongo,  it  is  not  ne^ 
cessary  that  we  should  detail  their  conversation  at 
full  length. 

“I  must  confess,”  said  Clinton,  “that  I would 
have  some  reason  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  part  in  the 
transaction  with  respect  to  Ahadarra,  were  it  not,  in 
the  first  place,  that  I have  never  been  much  afflicted 
with  the  commodity;  and,  in  tiie  next,  that  tliese 
transactions  are  too  common  to  excite  any  feeling 
one  way  or  the  other.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


485 


But  you  must  have  known,  Clinton,”  said  Chevy- 
dale,  “that  it  was  a most  iniquitous  thing  in  you 
to  enter  into  a corrupt  bargain  with  a dishonest 
agent  for  the  property  which  ypu  knew  to  belong 
to  another  man.” 

“What  other  man,  Mr.  Chevydale?  Had  not 
M’Mahon’s  lease  expired?” 

“ But  had  you  not  in  your  own  possession  ray 
father's  written  promise — written,  too,  on  his  death- 
bed— to  these  honest  men,  that  they  sliould  have 
their  leases  renew^ed  ?” 

“ Yes,  but  that  was  your  aghnt’s  affair,  and  his 
dishonesty,  too,  not  mine.” 

“ As  much  yours  as  his  ; and,  by  the  way,  I don’t 
see  upon  what  principle  you,  who  are  equally  in- 
volved with  him  in  the  profligacy  of  the  transaolion, 
should  come  to  bear  testimony  against  him  now. 
They  say  there  is  honor  among  thieves,  but  I see 
very  little  of  it  here.” 

“Faith,  to  tell  you  the  truth,”  replied  Clinton, 
“as  I said  to  Harry  here,  because  I like  to  see  a 
rogue  punished^  especiallij  when  he  is  not  prepared 
for  ity 

“Well,”  said  Chevydale,  with  a very  solemn  iron- 
ical smile,  “I  am  myself  very  much  of  your  way  of 
thinking;  and,  as  a proof  of  it,  I beg  to  say  that,  as 
your  appointment  to  the  ofiice  of  Supervisor 
))as  not  yet  been  made  out,  I shall  write  to  my  bro- 
tlier,  the  Commissioner,  to  take  care  tliat  it  never 
shall.  To  procure  the  promotion  of  a man  who  can 
deliberately  avow  liis  participation  in  such  shame- 
less profligacy  would  be  to  identify  myself  with  it. 


486 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


You  have  been  doubly  treaclierous,  Mr.  Clinton  ; 
first  to  me,  whom  you  know  to  be  your  friend,  and, 
in  the  next  place,  to  the  unfortunate  partner  in  your 

villany,  and  at  my  expense;  for  d e if  I can  call 

it  less.  Wliat  noise  is  that?” 

Clinton  the  elder  here  withdrew,  and  had  scarce- 
ly disappeared  wlien  two  voices  were  heard  in  the 
hall,  in  a kind  of  clamorous  remonstrance  with  each 
other,  wliich  voices  were  those  of  Father  Mat^owan 
and  our  friend  O’Finigan,  as  we  must  now  call  him, 
inasmuch  as  he  is,  although  early  in  the  day,  ex- 
panded wuth  that  hereditary  sense  of  dignity  which 
will  not  allow  the  great  O to  be  suppressed. 

“Behave,  and  keep  quiet,  now,”  said  his  Rever- 
ence, “you  unfortunate  pedagogue  you;  I tell  you 
that  you  are  inebriated.” 

“ Pardon  me,  your  Reverence,”  replied  O’Fini- 
gan ; “no/i  ebrius  sed  vino  gravatus^  devil  a thing 
more.” 

“ Get  out,  you  profligate,”  replied  the  priest, 
“don’t  you  know  that  either,  at  this  time  o’  day,  is 
too  bad  ?” 

“ N'ego^  domine—nego^  Domine  reverende — ^de- 
nial  is  my  pririciple,  I say.  Do  you  assert  that 
there’s  no  difterence  between  ebrius  and  gravatus 
vino?'*'* 

“ In  your  case,  you  reprobate,  I do.  Where 
w^ould  you  get  ihe  vino?  However,”  he  proceeded, 
“ as  you  are  seldom  sober,  and  as  J know  it  is  pos- 
sible you  may  have  something  of  importance  to  say 
on  a particular  subject,  I suppose  you  may  as  well 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


487 


say  it  now  as  any  other  time,  and  it’s  likely  we  may 
get  more  truth  out  of  you.” 

“ Ay,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  “upon  the  principle 
that  in  vino  veritas;  but  you  know  that  gravatus 
vino  and  ebrius  are  two  dilFerent  things — gravatus 
vino^  the  juice  o’  the  grape — och,  och,  as  every  one 
knows,  could  and  stupid;  but  ebrius  from  blessed 
poteen,  that  warms  and  gives  ecstatic  nutrition  to 
the  heart.” 

The  altercation  proceeded  for  a little,  but,  after  a 
short  remonstrance  and  bustle,  the  priest,  followed 
by  O'Finigan,  entered  the  room, 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  the  priest,  “ I trust  you  will 
excuse  me  for  the  society  in  which  I happen  to 
appear  before  you;  but  the  truth  is  that  this  Fini- 
g-an — ” 

“Pardon  me,  your  Reverence,  O’Finigan  if  you 
plaise;  we  have  been  shorn  of — ” 

“Well,  then,  since  he  will  have  it  so,  this  O’Fini- 
gan  is  really  inebriated,  and  I cannot  exactly  say 
why,  in  this  state,  his  presence  can  be  of  any  advan- 
tage to  us.” 

“ lie  says,”  replied  the  master,  “ that  I am  ebrius^ 
whereas  I replied,  that  I was  only  vino  gravatus^  by 
which  I only  meant  quasi  vino  gravatus ; but  tlie 
truth  is,  genllernen,  tiiat  Pm  never  properly  sober 
until  I’m  half  seas  over — for  it  is  then  that  I have 
all  iny  wits  properly  about  me.” 

“In  fact,  gentlemen,*’  ])roceeded  the  priest,  “ in 
consequence  of  certain  disclosures  that  have  reached 
me  W'itii  reference  to  these  Hogans,  I deemed  it  rny 
duty  to  bring  Nanny  Peety  before  Mr.  Chevydale 


488  THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

here.  She  is  accompanied  by  Kate  Hogan,  the  wife 
of  one  of  these  ruffians,  who  refuses  to  be  separated 
from  ner — and  insists,  consequently,  on  coming 
along  with  her.  I don’t  exactly  know  what  her 
motive  may  be  in  this;  but  I am  certain  she  has  a 
motive.  It  is  a gratification  to  me,  however,  to 
find,  gentlemen,  that  you  both  happen  to  be  present 
U2)on  this  occasion.  I sent  word  to  Hycy  Burke  and 
to  Bryan  M’Mahon  ; for  I thought  it  only  fair  that 
Hycy  should  be  present,  in  order  to  clear  himself  in 
case  any  charge  may  be  brought  against  him.  I 
expect  M’Mahon,  too.” 

“Let  us  remove  then  to  my  office,”  said  Chevy- 
dale — “it  is  now  a few  minutes  past  twelve,  and  J 
dare  say  they  will  soon  be  here.” 

They  accordingly  did  so ; and,  as  he  had  said, 
the  parties  almost  immediately  made  their  appear- 
ance. 

“ Now,  gentlemen,”  said  Father  Magowan,  “ I am 
of  opinion  that  the  best  way  is  for  this  girl  to  state 
what  she  knows  concerning  these  Hogans ; but  I 
think  I can  now  persave  tim  raison  why  Kate  Ho- 
gan has  made  it  a point  to  come  with  her.  It  is 
quite  evident  from  her  manner  that  slie  wishes  to 
intimidate  this  girl,  and  to  prevent  her  from  stating 
fully  and  truly  what  she  knows.” 

“ No,”  replied  Kate,  “it  is  no  such  thing — she 
must  either  state  the  whole  truth  or  nothing;  that’s 
what  I want,  an’  what  she  must  do — put  the  saddle 
on  the  right  horse,  Nanny — since  you  vnll  spake.” 

“ It  is  a good  proverbial  illustration,”  observed 
Finigan,  “ but  I will  improve  it — put  the  saddle  of 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHABARRA. 


489 


infamy,  T say,  upon  the  riglit  horse,  Nanny.  You 
see,  giiulemen,”  lie  added,  turning  to  the  magistrates, 
“ rny  improvement  elevates  the  metaphor — proceed, 
girsha.'^ 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Hycy,  “ I received  a note  f om 
Father  Magowan  informing  metliat  it  was  probable 
certain  charges  miglit  be  brouglit  against  me — or  at 
least  some  complaints  made,”  he  added,  softening 
the  expression — “and  I should  be  glad  to  know 
what  they  are  all  about,  before  tliis  girl  commences 
formally  to  state  them  ; I say  so  in  order  thatimay 
not  be  taken  by  surprise.” 

“You  know,”  replied  the  priest,  “that  you  can- 
not be  taken  by  surprise;  because  I myself  tojd  you 
the  substance  of  the  strong  suspicions  that  are 
against  you.” 

Bryan  M’Mahon  now  entered,  and  was  cordially 
greeted  by  Vanston — and  we  may  add  rather  kindly, 
in  manner  at  least,  by  Chevy  dale. 

“ By  the  way,”  asked  the  former  of  these  gentle- 
men, “does  this  investigation  bear  in  any  way  upon 
yow  interests,  M’Mahon?” 

“ Not,  sir,  so  far  as  I am  aware  of — I come  here 
because  Father  Magowan  wished  me  to  come.  I 
liave  no  interests  connected  with  this  country  now,” 
he  added  in  a tone  of  deep  melancholy,  “there’s  an 
end  to  that  for  ever.” 

“Now,  my  good  girl,”  said  Chevydale,  “you  will 
state  all  you  know  connected  with  tliese  Hogans 
fully  and  truly — that  is,  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  truth,” 

Allihe  truth,  Nanny,”  said  Kate  Hogan,  in  a 


490 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


voice  of  strongly  condensed  power ; “ Hycy  Burke, 
she  proceeded,  “ you  ruined  Bryan  M’Malion  here — 
and,  by  ruinin’  hlm^  you  broke  Miss  Kathleen  Cav- 
anagh’s  heart — she’s  gone — no  docthor  could  save 
her  now  \ and  for  this  you’ll  soon  know  what  Kate 
Hogan  can  do.  Go  on,  Nairn y.^’ 

“Well,  gintlemen,”  Nanny  began,  “in  the  first 
place  it  was  Mr.  Hycy  here  that  got  the  Still  up  in 
Ahadarra,  in  ordher  to  beggar  Bryan  M’Mahon  by 
the  tine.” 

Hycy  laughed.  “Excellent!”  said  he;  “Why, 
really,  Mr.  Chevydale,  I did  not  imagine  that  you 
could  suffer  such  a farce  as  this  is  likely  to  turn  out 
to  be  enacted  exactly  in  your  office.” 

“ Enacted  ! well,  that’s  appropriate  at  any  rate,” 
said  the  schoolmaster  ; “ but  in  the  mane  time,  Mr. 
Hycy,  take  care  that  the  farce  won’t  become  a trag- 
edy on  our  hands,  and  you  yourself  the  hei;o  of  it. 
Proceed,  girsha.^^ 

“How  do  you  know,”  asked  Chevydale,  “that 
this  charge  is  true  ? ” 

“If  I don’t  know  it,”  she  replied,  “my  aunt  here 
does, — and  I think  so  does  Mr.  Harry  Clinton  an’ 
others.” 

“ Pray,  my  woman,  what  do  you  know  about  this 
matter?”  asked  Chevydale,  addressing  Kate. 

“ Why  that  it  was  Mr.  Hycy  Burke  that  gave  the 
Hogans  the  money  to  make  the  Still,  set  it  up — and 
to  Teddy  Phats  to  buy  barley;  and  although  he 
didn’t  tell  them  it  was  to  ruin  Bryan  M’Mahon  he 
did  it,  sure  they  all  knew  it  was— ’spishly  when  he 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


491 


made  them  change  from  Glendearg  above,  where 
they  were  far  safer,  down  to  Ahadarra.” 

“ I assure  you,  gentlemen,”  said  Hycy,  “that  the 
respectability  of  the  witnesses  you  have  fished  up  is 
liighly  creditable  to  your  judgments  and  sense  of 
justice; — a common  vagabond  and  notorious  thief 
on  the  one  hand,  and  a beggarman’s  brat  on  the 
other.  However,  proceed — I perceive  that  I shall 
be  obliged  to  sink  under  the  force  of  such  testimony 
— ha  ! ha ! ha  ! ” 

At  this  moment  old  Jemmy  Burke,  having  acci- 
dentially  heard  that  morning  that  such  an  investi- 
gation was  to  take  place,  and  likely  to  bear  upon  the 
conduct  of  his  eldest  son,  resolved  to  be  present  at 
it,  and  lie  accordingly  presented  himself  as  Hycy 
Lad  concluded  his  observations. 

The  high  integrity  of  his  ch  iracter  was  at  once 
recognized — he  w^as  addressed  in  terms  exceedingly 
respectful,  if  not  deferential,  by  the  two  magistrates 
— Chevydale  liaving  at  once  ordered  the  servant  in 
attendance  to  hand  him  a chair.  He  thanked  him, 
how^ever,  but  declined  it  gratefully,  and  stood  like 
the  rest. 

In  the  mean  time  the  investigation  proceeded. 
“ Mr.  Burke,”  said  Chevydale,  addressing  himself  to 
the  old  man,  whose  features,  by  the  way,  w^ere  full 
of  sorrow  and  distress — “ it  may  be  as  well  to  state 
to  you  that  we  are  not  sitting  now  formally  in  our 
magisterial  capacity,  to  investigate  any  charges 
that  may  be  brought  against  your  son,  but  simply 
making  some  preliminary  inquiries  wdth  respect  to 
other  charges,  which  we  have  been  given  to  under- 


492 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


stant  are  about  to  be  brought  against  the  notorious 
Hogans.” 

“Don’t  lay  the  blame  upon  the  Hogans,”  replied 
Kate,  fiercely— “ the  Hogans,  bad  as  people  say 
they  are,  only  acted  undher  Hycy  Burke.  It  was 
Hycy  Burke.” 

“But,”  said  Ch^vydale,  probably  out  of  compas- 
sion for  the  old  man,  “ you  must  know  we^are  not 
now  investigating  Mr.  Burke’s  conduct.” 

“Proceed,  gintlemen,”  said  Ids  father,  firmly  but 
sorrowfully;  “I  have  heard  it  said  too  often  tiiat  he 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  plot  that  ruined  Bryan 
M’Mahon,  or  that  wint  near  to  ruin  him;  I wish 
to  have  that  well  sifted,  gintlemen,  and  to  know  the 
truth.” 

“ I can  swear,”  continued  Kate,  “ that  it  was  him 
got  up  the  whole  plan,  and  gave  them  the  money 
for  it.  I seen  him  in  our  house — or,  to  come  nearer 
the  truth,  in  Gerald  Cavanagh’s  kiln,  where  we  live 
— givin’  them  the  money.” 

“As  you  are  upon  that  subject,  gentlemen,”  ob- 
served Harry  Olinton,  “I  think  it  due  to  the  char- 
acter of  Bryan  M’Mahon  to  state  that  I am  in  a 
capacity  to  prove  that  Hycy  Burke  was  unquesiion- 
ably  at  the  bottom — or,  in  point  of  fact,  tlie  origina- 
tor— of  his  calamities  with  reference  to  the  act  of 
illicit  distillation,  and  the  fine  which  he  would  have 
been  called  on  to  pay,  were  it  not  that  the  Commis- 
sioners of  Excise  remitted  it.” 

“Thank  you,  Mr.  Clinton,”  replied  Hycy;  “I 
find  1 am  not  mistaken  in  you — I think  you  are 


493 


THE  EHIGBANTS  OF  AHADAHRA. 

worthy  of  ypur  accoraplipes  ” — and  he  pointed  to 
Kate  and  Nanny  as  he  spoke — “ proceed.” 

“ We  are  passing,”  observed  Vanston,  “from  one 
to  another  rather  irregularly,  I fear;  don’t  you 
think  we  had  belter  hear  thU  girl  fully  in  the  first 
place ; but,  my  good  girl,”  he  added,  “ you  are  to 
understand  that  we  are  not  here  to  investigate  any 
charges  against  Mr.  Ilycy  Burke,  but  against  the 
Hogans.  You  will  please  then  to  confine  your 
charges  to  them.” 

“ But,”  replied  Nanny,  ‘‘  that’s  what  I can’t  do, 
plase  your  honor,  widout  bringin’  in  Hycy  Burke 
too,  bekaise  himself  an’  the  Hogans  was  joined  in 
everything.” 

“ 1 think,  gintlemen,”  said  the  priest,  “ the  best 
plan  is  to  let  her  tell  her  story  in  her  own  way.” 

“Perhaps  so,”  said  Chevydale;  “proceed,  young 
woman,  and  slate  fully  and  truly  whatever  you 
Lave  got  to  say.” 

“ Well,  then,”  slie  proceeded,  “ there’s  one  thing 
I know — I know  who  robbed  Mr.  Burke  here  ;”  and 
she  pointed  to  the  old  man,  who  started. 

The  magistrates  also  looked  surprised.  “How,” 
said  Vanston,  turrdng  his  eyes  keenly  upon  lier,  “ you 
know  of  the  robbery;  and  pray,  how  long  have  you 
known  it  ? ” 

“ Ever  since  the  night  it  was  committed,  plaise 
your  honor.” 

“What  a probable  story!”  exclaimed  Hycy;  “and 
you  kept  it  to  yourself,  like  an  honest  girl  as  you 
are,  until  now  ! ” 

“ Why,  Mr.  Burke,”  said  Vanston,  quickly  and 


494 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


rather  sharply,  “surely  you  can  have  no  motive  in 
impugning  her  evidence  upon  that  subject?” 

Ilycy  bit  his  lip,  for  he  instantly  felt  that  he  had 
overshot  himself  by  almost  anticipating  the  charge, 
as  if  it  were  about  to  be  made  against  himself; — 

“ What  I think  improbable  in  it,”  said  Hycy,  “is 
that  she  should,  if  in  possession  of  the  facts,  keep 
them  concealed  so  long.” 

“ Oh,  never  fear,  Mr.  Hycy,  I’ll  soon  make  that  . 
plain  enough,”  she  replied. 

“But  in  the  mean  time,”  said  Chevydale,  “ will 
you  state  tlie  names  of  those  who  did  commit  the 
robbery  ? ” 

“ I will,”  she  replied, 

“The  whole  truth,  Nanny,”  exclaimed  Kate. 

“ It  was  Bat  Hogan,  then,  that  robbed  Mr.  Burke,” 
she  replied ; “ and — and — ” 

“ Out  wid  it,”  said  Kate. 

“And  who  besides,  ray  good  girl?”  inquired 
Vanston. 

The  young  woman  looked  round  with  compassion 
upon  Jemmy  Burke,  and  the  tears  started  to  her 
eyts.  “ I pity  she  exclaimed,  “ I pity  him 

— that  good  old  man  ;”  and,  as  she  uttered  the 
words,  she  wept  aloud. 

“This,  I fear,  is  getting  rather  a serious  affair,” 
said  Vanston,  in  low  voice  to  Chevydale — “I  see 
how  the  tide  is  likely  to  turn.” 

Chevydale  merely  nodded,  as  if  he  also  compre- 
hended it.  “You  were  about  to  add  some  other 
name  ? ” said  he  ; “ in  the  mean  time  compose  your- 
self and  proceed.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHAOARRA. 


495 


Hycy  Burke’s  face  at  this  moment  had  become 
white  as  a sheet;  in  fact,  to  any  one  of  common 
pentration,  guilt  and  a dread  of  the  coming  disclosure 
were  legible  in  every  lineament  of  it. 

“ Wlio  was  the  other  person  you  were  about  to 
mention  ?”  asked  Vanston. 

“ Ilis  own  son,  sir,  ]\[r.  Ilycy  Burke,  there.” 

“ Ila!  ” exclaimed  Chevydale  ; “ Mr.  Hycy  Burke, 
do  you  say  ? Mr.  Burke,’’  he  added,  addressing 
that  gentleman,  “ how  is  this  ? Here  is  a grave 
and  serious  charge  against  you.  “What  have  you 
to  say  to  it  ? ” 

“ That  it  would  be  both  grave  and  serious,”  re- 
plied Hycy,  “ if  it  possessed  but  one  simple  element, 
without  which  all  evi  dence  is  vahieless — I mean 
truth.  All  I can  say  is,  that  she  might  just  as  well 
name  either  of  yourselves,  gentlemen,  as  me.” 

“ How  do  you  know  that  Hogan  committed  the 
robbery?”  asked  Hycy. 

“ Simply  bekaise  I seen  him.  He  broke  open  the 
big  chest  above  stairs.” 

“ How  did  you  see  him  ?”  asked  Vanston. 

“ Tlirough  a hole  in  the  partition,”  she  replied, 
“ where  a knot  of  the  deal  boards  had  come  out.  I 
slep’,  plaise  your  honor,  in  a little  closet  off  o’  the 
room  the  money  was  in.” 

“Is  it  true  that  she  slept  there,  Mr.  Burke?” 
asked  Vanston  of  the  old  man. 

“ It  is  thrue,  sir,  God  help  me  ; that  at  all  events 
is  thrue.” 

“Well,  proceed,”  said  Chevydale. 

“I  then  threw  my  gown  about  my  shoulders;  but 


496 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARBA. 


in  risin’  from  my  bed  it  creaked  a little,  an’  Bat 
Hogan,  who  had  jest  let  down  the  lid  of  the  che>t 
aisily  when  he  hard  the  noise,  blew  out  the  bit  of 
candle  that  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  picked  his  way 
down  stairs  as  aisily  as  he  could.  I foileyed  him  on 
my  tippy-toes,  an’  when  he  came  opposite  the  door 
of  the  room  where  the  masther  an’  misthress  sleep, 
the  door  opened,  an’  the  mistress  wid  a candle  in 
her  hand  met  him  fuU-V)ut  in  the  teeth.  I was  above 
upon  the  stairs  at  the  time,  but  from  the  way  an’  the 
place  she  stood  in,  the  light  didn’t  rache  me, so  that 
I could  see  them  widout  bein’  seen  myself.  Well, 
when  the  mistress  met  him  she  was  goin’  to  bawl 
out  wid  terror,  an’  would  too,  only  that  Masther 
Ilycy  flew  to  her,  put  his  hand  on  her  mouth,  an’ 
whispered  something  in  her  ear.  He  then  went  over 
to  Bat,  and  got  a large  shafe  of  bank-notes  from 
him,  an’  motioned  him  to  be  ofl*  wid  himself,  an’  that 
he’d  see  him  to  morrow.  Bat  went  down  in  the 
dark,  an’  Hycy  an’  his  mother  had  some  conversa- 
tion in  a low  voice  on  the  lobby.  She  seemed  angry, 
an’  he  was  speakin’  soft  an’  strivin’  to  put  her  into 
good  humor  again.  I then  slipt  back  to  bed,  but 
the  never  a wink  could  I get  till  raornin’ ; an’  when 
I went  down,  the  first  thing  I saw  was  Bat  Hogan’s 
shoes.  It  was  hardly  light  at  the  time;  but  at  anj’^ 
rate  Ibid  them  where  they  couldn’t  begot,  an’  it  was 
well  I did,  for  the  first  thing  I saw  was  Bat  himself 
peerin’  about  the  street  and  yard,  like  a man  that 
was  lookin’  for  something  that  he  had  lost.” 

‘‘  But  how  did  you  know  that  the  shoes  were 
Hogan’s?”  asked  Vanston. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


497 


Why,  your  honor,  any  one  that  ever  seen  the 
man  might  know  tiiat.  One  of  his  heels  is  a trifle 
shorter  than  the  other,  which  makes  him  halt  a lit- 
tle, an’  he  has  a buunion  as  big  as  an  egg  on  the 
other  foot.” 

“Ay,  Nanny,”  said  Kate,  “ that’s  the  truth;  but 
I can  tell  you  more,  gentlemen.  On  the  evenin’  be- 
fore, when  Mr.  Ilycy  came  home,  he  made  up  the 
plan  to  rob  his  father  wid  Phil  Hogan;  but  Phil  got 
drunk  that  night  an’  Bat  had  to  go  in  his  place.  Mr. 
Ilyey  promised  to  see  the  Hogans  that  mornin’  at 
his  father’s,  about  ten  o’clock;  but  when  they  went 
he  had  gone  off  to  Ballyrnacan  ; an’  as  they  expected 
liirn  every  minute,  they  stayed  about  the  place  in 
spite  o’  the  family,  an’  mended  everything  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on.  Bat  an’  Mr.  Ilycy  met  tiiat 
night  in  Teddy  Phats’s  still-house,  in  Glendto-g,  an’ 
went  home  together  across  the  mountains  afther- 
ward.” 

“Well,  Mr.  Burke,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this  ?” 
asked  Chevydale. 

“ Why,”  replied  Hycy,  “ that  it’s  a very  respect- 
able conspiracy  as  it  stands,  supported  by  the  thief 
and  vagabond,  and  the  beggar’s  brat.” 

“Was  there  any  investigation  at  the  time  of  its 
occurrence?”  asked  Vanston. 

“Tiiere  was,  your  honor,”  replied  Nanny;  “it 
was  proved  clearly  enough  that  Phil  and  Ned  Ho- 
gan were  both  dead  drunk  that  night  an’  couldn’t 
commit  a robbery ; an’ Masther  Hycy  himself  said 
that  he  knew  how  Bat  spent  the  night,  an’  that  of 
course  Ae  couldn’t  do  it;  an’  you  know,  your  honors, 


498 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADAPwRA. 


there  was  no  gettin’  over  that.  I have,  or  rather 
my  father  has,  Bat  Hogan’s  shoes  still.” 

“This,  I ref)eat,  seems  a very  serious  charge,  Mr. 
Burke,”  said  Chevydale  again. 

“ Which,  as  I said  before,  contains  not  one  parti- 
cle of  truth,”  replied  Ilycy.  “ If  I had  resolved  to 
bivak  open  my  father’s  chest  to  get  cash  out  of  it, 
it  is  not  likely  that  I would  call  in  the  aid  of  such  a 
man  as  Bat  Hogan.  As  a proof  that  I had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  robbery  in  question,  I can  satisfy  you 
that  my  mother,  not  many  days  after  the  occurrence 
of  it,  was  obliged  to  get  her  car  and  drive  some 
three  or  four  miles’  distance  to  borrow  a hundred 
pounds  for  me  from  a friend  of  hers,  upon  her  own 
responsibility,  which,  had  I committed  the  outrage 
in  question,  I would  not  have  required  at  all.” 

Old  Burke’s  face  would,  at  this  period  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, have  extorted  compassion  from  any  heart. 
Sorrow,  distress,  agony  of  spirit,  and  shame,  were 
all  so  legible  in  his  pale  features — that  those  who 
were  present  kept  tlieir  eyes  averted,  from  respect 
to  the  man,  and  from  sympathy  with  his  sufierings. 

At  length  he  himself  came  forward,  and,  alter 
wiping  away  a few  bitter  tears  from  his  cheeks,  he 
said — “ Gentlemen,  I care  little  about  the  money  I 
lost,  nor  about  who  took  it — let  it  go — as  for  me,  I 
won’t  miss  it;  but  there  is  one  thing  that  cuts  me 
to  the  heart — I’m  spikin’  about  the  misfortune  that 
was  brought,  or  near  bein’  brought,  upon  this  honest 
an’  generous-hearted  young  man,  Bryan  M'Mahon, 
through  manes  of  a black  plot  that  was  got  up 
against  him — I’m  spakin’  of  the  Still  that  was  found 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


499 


on  his  farm  of  Ahadarra.  That^  if  niy  son  had  act 
or  part  in  it,  is  a thousand  times  worse  than  the 
other;  as  for  the  takin’  of  the  money,  I don’t  care 
about  it,  as  I said — nor  I won’t  prosecute  any  one 
for  it;  but  I must  have  my  mind  satisfied  about  the 
other  affair.” 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  dwell  at  any  length  upon 
the  clear  proofs  of  his  treachery  and  deceit,  which 
were  established  against  him  by  Harry  Clinton, 
who  produced  the  anonymous  letter  to  his  uncle, — 
brought  home  to  him  as  it  was  by  his  own  evidence 
and  that  of  Nanny  Peety. 

There  is,  however,”  said  Vanston,  “ another  cir- 
cumstance affecting  the  reputation  and  honesty  of 
Mr.  Bryan  M’Mahon,  wliich  in  your  presence,  Mr. 
M'Gowan,  I am  anxious  to  set  at  rest.  I have  al- 
readv  contradicted  it  with*  indignation  wherever  I 
have  heard  it,  and  I am  the  more  anxious  to  do  so 
now,  whilst  M’Mahon  and  Burke  are  present,  and  be- 
cause I have  been  given  to  understand  that  you  de- 
nounced him — M’Mahon — with  such  hostility  from 
the  altar,  as  almost  occasioned  him  to  be  put  to 
death  in  the  house  of  God.” 

‘‘You  are  undher  a mistake  there.  Major  Van- 
Bton,  with  great  respect,”  replied  the  priest.  “ It 
wasn’t  I but  my  senior  curate,  Father  M'Pepper ; 
and  he  has  already  been  reprimanded  by  his 
Bishop.” 

“Well,”  replied  the  other,  “I  am  glad  to  hear 
it.  However,  I now  solemnly  declare,  as  an  honest 
man  and  an  Irish  gentleman,  ti»at  neither  I,  nor 
any  one  for  me,  with  my  knowledge,  ever  gave  or 


500 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


sent  any  money  to  Bryan  M’Mahon ; but  perhaps 
we  may  ascertain  who  did.  M’Mahon,  liave  you  got 
the  letter  about  you  ? ” 

“ I have,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  “and  the  bank-note, 
too.” 

“You  will  find  the  frank  and  address  both  in 
your  own  handwriting,”  said  Hycy.  “It  w^as  I 
brought  him  the  letter  from  the  post-office.” 

“Show  me  tlie  letter  if  you  plaise,”  said  Nanny, 
who,  after  looking  first  at  it  and  then  at  Hycy, 
added,  “and  it  was  I gave  it  this  little  tear  near  the 
corner,  and  dhrew  three  scrapes  of  a pin  across  the 
paper,  an’  there  they  are  yet;  an’  now  I can  take 
my  oath  that  it  was  Mr.  Hycy  that  sent  that  let- 
ther  to  Bryan  M’Mahon — an’  your  Reverence  is  tlie 
very  man  I showed  it  to,  and  that  tould  me  who  it 
was  goin’  to,  in  the  street  of  Ballymacan.” 

On  a close  inspection  of  tlie  letter  it  was  clearly 
obvious  that,  although  there  appeared  at  a cursory 
glance  a strong  resemblance  between  the  frank  and 
the  address,  yet  the  difference  was  too  plain  to  be 
mistaken. 

“If  there  is  further  evidence  necessary,”  said 
Vanston,  looking  at  Hycy  significantly,  “my  agent 
can  produce  it, — and  he  is  now  in  the  house.” 

“I  think  you  would  not  venture  on  that,”  replied 
Hycy. 

“Don’t  be  too  sure  of  that,”  said  the  other,  de- 
terminedly. 

“Sir,”  replied  Father  Magowan,  “there is  nothing 
further  on  that  point  necessary — tlie  proof  is  plain 
and  clear;  and  now,  Bryan  M’Mahon,  give  me  your 


501 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 

hand,  for  it  is  that  of  an  honest  man — I am  proud  to 
see  that  you  stand  pure  and  unsullied  again  ; and  it 
shall  be  ray  duty  to  s6e  that  justice  shall  be  render- 
ed you,  and  ample  compensation  made  for  ail  that 
you  have  suffered.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  Bryan,  with  an  air  of 
deep  dejection,  ‘‘but  I arn  sorry  to  say  it  is  now  too 
late — I am  done  with  the  country,  and  with  those 
that  misrepresented  me,  for  ever.” 

Chevydale  looked  at  him  with  deep  attention  for 
a moment,  then  whispered  something  to  Vanston, 
who  smiled,  and  nodded  his  head  approvingly. 

Jemmy  Burke  now  prepared  to  go.  “ Good  mor- 
nin’,  gintlemen,”  he  said,  “ I am  glad  to  see  the 
honest  name  cleared  and  set  right,  as  it  ought  to  be; 
but  as  for  myself,  I lave  you  wid  a heavy — wid  a 
breakin’  heart.” 

As  he  disappeared  at  the  door,  Ilycy  rushed  after 
him,  exclainiing,  “ Father,  listen  to  me — don’t  go 
yei  till  you  hear  my  defence.  I will  go  and  fetch 
liirn  back,  he  exclaimed — “he  must  hear  what  I have 
to  say  for  myself.” 

lie  overtook  his  father  at  the  bottom  of  the  liall 
steps.  “ Give  me  a hundred  pounds,”  said  he,  “and 
you  will  never  see  my  face  again.” 

‘*  There  is  two  hundre’,”  said  his  father;  “I  ex- 
pected tliis.  Your  motlier  confessed  all  to  me  this 
niornin’,  bekaise  she  knew  it  would  come  out  liere, 
I suppose.  Go  now,  for  undher  my  roof  you’ll  never 
come  again.  If  you  can, — ref)rrn  your  life — aiT 
live,  at  all  events,  as  if  there  was  a God  above 
you. 


502 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Before  you  go,  answer  me ; — what  made  you 
bring  in  Bat  Hogan  to  rob  me 

“ Simply,”  replied  his  son,  “ because  I wished  to 
make  him  and  them  feel  that  I had  them  in  my 
power — and  now  you  have  it.” 

Hycy  received  the  money,  set  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  was  out  of  sight  in  a moment — “ Ah  ! ” exclaim- 
ed the  old  man,  with  bitterness  of  soul,  what 
mightn’t  lie  be  if  his  weak  and  foolish  mother 
liadn’t  taken  it  into  her  head  to  make  a gentleman 
of  him  ! But  now  she  reaps  as  she  sowed.  She’s 
punished — an’  that’s  enough.” — And  thus  does  Ilyey 
the  accomplished  make  his  exit  from  our  humble 
stage. 

“ Gintlemen,”  said  Finigan,  now  that  the  ac- 
complished Mr.  Hycy  is  disposed  of,  I beg  to  state, 
that  it  will  be  productiv^e  of  much  public  good  to 
the  country  to  expatriate  these  three  virtuous  wor- 
thies, qui  nomine  gamlent  Hogan — and  the  more  so 
as  it  can  be  done  on  clear  legal  grounds.  They  are 
a principal  means  of  driving  this  respectable  young 
man,  Bryan  M’Mahon,  and  his  father’s  family,  out 
of  the  land  of  their  birth  ; and  there  will  be  some- 
thing extremely  appropriate — and  indicative  besides 
of  condign  and  retributive  punishment — in  sending 
them  on  their  travels  at  his  Majesty’s  expense.  I 
am  here,  in  connection  with  others,  to  furnish  you 
with  the  necessary  proof  against  them;  and  I 
am  of  opinion  that  the  sooner  they  are  sent  upon  a 
voyage  of  discovery  it  will  be  so  much  the  better 
for  the  rejoicing  neighborhood  they  will  leave  be- 
hind them.” 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


603 


The  ])int  was  immediately  taken  with  respect  to 
them  and  Vincent,  all  of  whom  had  been  engaged 
in  coining  under  Hycy’s  auspices — they  were  appre- 
hended and  imprisoned,  the  chief  evidence  against 
them  being  Teddy  Phats,  Peety  Dhu,  and  Finigan, 
who  for  once  became  a stag,  as  he  called  it.  They 
were  indicted  for  a capital  felony  ; but  the  prosecu- 
tion having  been  postponed  for  want  of  sufficient 
evidence,  they  were  kept  in  durance  until  next  as- 
sizes;— having  found  it  impossible  to  procure  bail. 
In  the  mean  time  new  charges  of  utteritjg  base  coin 
came  thick  and  strong  against  them ; and  as  the 
Crown  lawyers  found  that  they  could  not  succeed 
on  the  capital  indictment — nor  indeed  did  they  wish 
to  do  so— they  tried  them  on  the  lighter  one,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  sentence  of  transportation 
passed  against  every  one  of  them,  with  the 
exception  of  Kate  Hogan  alone. — So  that,  as  Fiui- 
gan  afterwards  said,  instead  of  Bryan  M’Mahon,  it 
was  they  themselves  that  became  “ the  Emigrants 
of  Ahadarra,”  at  the  king’s  expense — and  Mr.  Hycy 
at  hift  own. 


604 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

How  Kathleen  Cavanagh  spent  the  time  that 
elapsed  between  the  period  at  which  she  last  ap- 
peared to  our  readers  and  the  present  may  be  easily 
gathered  from  what  we  are  about  to  write.  We 
have  said  already  that  her  father,  upon  the  strength 
of  some  expressions  uttered  in  a spirit  of  distraction 
and  agony,  assured  Jemmy  Burke  that  she  had  con- 
sented to  marry  his  son  Edward,  after  a given 
period.  Honest  Jemmy,  however,  never  for  a 
moment  suspected  the  nature  of  the  basis  upon 
which  his  worthy  neighbor  had  erected  the  super- 
structure of  his  narrative;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
felt  sadly  puzzled  by  the  melancholy  and  declining 
appearance  of  her  whom  he  looked  upon  as  his 
future  daughter-in-law.  The  truth  was  that  scarcely 
any  of  her  acquaintances  could  recognize  her  as  the 
same  majestic,  tall,  and  beautiful  girl  whom  they 
had  known  before  this  heavy  disappointment  had 
come  on  her.  Her  exquisite  figure  had  lost  most  of 
its  roundness,  her  eye  no  longer  flashed  with  its 
dark  mellow  lustre,  and  her  cheek — her  damask 
cheek — distress  and  despair  had  fed  upon  it,  until 
little  remained  there  but  the  hue  of  death  itself. 
Her  health  in  fact  was  evidently  beginning  to  go. 
Her  appetite  had  abandoned  her;  she  slept  little, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


505 


and  that  little  was  restless  and  unrefreshing.  All 
her  family,  with  the  exception  of  her  father  and 
mother,  who  sustained  themselves  with  the  silly 
ambition  of  their  daughter  being  able  to  keep  her 
jiun ting-car — for  her  father  had  made  that  point  a 
sine  qua  non — all,'  we  say,  with  the  above  excep- 
tions, became  seriously  alarmed  at  the  state  of  her 
mind  and  health. 

‘‘Kathleen,  dear,”  said  her  affectionate  sister,  “I 
think  you  have  carried  your  feelings  against  Bryan 
far  enough.” 

“My  feelings  against  Bryan!”  she  exclaimed. 

“ Yes,”  proceeded  her  sister,  “ I think  you  ought 
to  forgive  him.” 

“Ah,  Hanna  darling,  how  little  you  know  of 
your  sister’s  heart.  I have  long  since  forgiven  him, 
Hanna.” 

“ Then  what’s  to  prevent  you  from  making  up 
with  him  ? ” 

“ I have  long  since  forgiven  him,  Hanna  ; but,  my 
dear  sister,  I never  can  nor  will  think  for  a moment 
of  marrying  any  man  that  has  failed,  when  brought 
to  the  trial,  in  honest  and  steadfast  principle — the 
man  that  would  call  me  wife  should  be  upright, 
pure,  and  free  from  every  stain  of  corruption — he 
must  have  no  disgrace  nor  dishonor  upon  his  name, 
and  he  must  feel  the  love  of  his  religion  and  his 
country  as  the  great  ruling  principles  of  his  life.  I 
have  long  since  forgiven  Bryan,  but  it  is  because  he 
is  not  what  I hoped  he  was,  and  what  I wished  him 
to  be,  that  I am  as  you  see  me.” 

22 


606 


THE  EMIGEANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ Then  you  do  intend  to  marry  ? ” asked  Hanna, 
with  a smile. 

“ Why  do  you  ask  that,  Hanna  ? ” 

‘‘  Why,  because  you’ve  given  me  sich  a fine  (de- 
scription of  the  kind  o’  man  your  husband  is  to  heP 

“ Hanna,”  she  replied,  solemnly,  “ look  at  my 
cheek,  look  at  my  eye,  look  at  my  whole  figure,  and 
then  ask  me  that  question  again  if  you  can.  Don’t 
you  see,  darling,  that  death  is  upon  me  ? I feel  it.” 

Her  loving  and  beloved  sister  threw  her  arms 
around  her  neck,  and  burst  into  an  irrepressible  fit 
of  bitter  grief. 

Oh,  you  are  changed,  most  woefully,  Kathleen, 
darlin’,”  she  exclaimed,  kissing  her  tenderly ; ‘‘but 
if  you  could  only  bear  up  now,  time  would  set 
everything  right,  and  bring  you  about  right,  as  it 
will  still,  I hope.” 

Her  sister  mused  for  some  time,  and  then  ad(Jed 
— “I  think  I could  bear  up  yet  if  he  was  to  stay  in 
the  country  ; but  when  I recollcet  that  he’s  going  to 
to  another  land — for  ever — I feel  that  my  heart  is 
broken:  as  it  is,  his  disgrace  and  that  thought  are 
both  killin’  me.  To-morrow  the  auction  comes  on, 
and  then  he  goes — ^after  that  I will  never  see  him. 
I’m  afraid,  Hanna,  that  I’ll  have  to  go  to  bed ; I 
feel  that  I’m  hardly  able  to  sit  up.” 

Hanna  once  more  pressed  her  to  her  heart  and 
wept. 

“ Don’t  cry,  Hanna  dear — don’t  cry  for  me ; the 
bitterest  part  of  my  fate  will  be  partin’  from  you.” 

Hanna  here  pressed  her  again  and  wept  aloud, 
whilst  her  spotless  and  great-minded  sister  consoled 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


501 


her  as  well  as  she  could.  “ Oh,  what  would  become 
of  me!”  exclaimeil  Hanna,  sobbing;  ‘‘if  anything 
was  to  happen  you,  or  take  you  away  from  me,  it 
would  break  my  heart,  too,  and  I’d  die.” 

“ Hanna,”  said  her  sister,  not  encouraging  her  to 
proceed  any  further  on  that  distressing  subject ; “ on 
to-morrow,  the  time  I allowed  for  Bryan  to  clear 
himself,  if  he  could,  will  be  up,  and  I have  only  to 
beg  that  you’ll  do  all  you  can  to  prevent  my  father 
and  mother  from  distressing  me  about  Edward 
Burke ; I will  never  marry  him,  but  I expect  to  see 
him  your  husband  yet,  and  I think  he’s  worthy  of 
you — that’s  saying  a great  deal,  I know.  You  love 
l]im,  Hanna — I know  it,  and  he  loves  you,  Hanna, 
for  he  told  me  so  the  last  day  but  one  he  was  here  ; 
— you  remember  they  all  went  out,  and  left  us 
together,  and  then  he  told  me  all.” 

Hanna’s  face  and  neck  became  crimson,  and  she 
was  about  to  reply,  when  a rather  loud  but  good- 
humored  voice  was  heard  in  the  kitchen,  for  this 
dialogue  took  place  in  the  parlor — exclaiming,  “ God 
save  all  here!  How  dp  you  do,  Mrs.  Cavanagh? 
How  is  Gerald  and  the  youngsters  ?” 

“ Indeed  all  middlin’  well,  tliank  your  reverence, 
barriii’  our  eldest  girl  that’s  a little  low  spirited  for 
some  time  p.ist.” 

“ Ay,  ay,  I know  the  cause  ot  that — it’s  no  secret 
— where  is  she  now?  If  she’s  in  the  house  let  me 
see  her.” 

The  two  sisters  having  composed  their  dress  a 
little  and  their  features,  immediately  made  their 
appearance. 


508 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


“ God  be  good  to  us!”  he  exclaimed,  “here’s  a 
change!  Why,  may  I never  sin,  if  I’d  know  her  no 
more  than  the  mother  that  bore  her.  Lord  guard 
us  ! look  at  this!  Do  you  give  her  nolhing,  Mrs. 
Cavanagh  ? ” 

“ Nothing  on  airth,”  she  replied  ; “ her  complaint’s 
upon  the  spirits,  an’  we  didn’t  think  that  physic 
stuff  would  be  of  any  use  to  her.” 

“ Well,  perhaps  I will  find  a cure  for  her.  Listen 
to  me,  darling.  Your  sweetheart’s  name  and  fame 
are  cleared,  and  Bryan  M’Mahon  is  what  he  ever 
was — an  honest  an’  upright  young  man.” 

Kathleen  started,  looked  around  her,  as  if  with 
amazement,  and  without  seeming  to  know  exactly 
what  she  did,  went  towards  the  door,  and  was  about 
to  walk  out,  when  Hanna,  detaining  her,  asked  with 
alarm — “Kathleen,  what  ails  you,  dear?  Where 
are  you  going  ? ” 

“ Goirjg,”  she  replied ; “ I was  going  to — where  ? 
— why? — what — what  has  happened?” 

“ The  news  came  upon  her  too  much  by  surprise,” 
said  Hanna,  looking  toward^  the  priest. 

“ Kathleen,  dartin’,”  exclaimed  her  mother,  “ try 
and  compose  yourself.  Lord  guard  us,  what  can 
ail  her  ? ” 

“ Let  her  come  with  me  into  the  parlor,  mother, 
an’  do  you  an’  Father  Magowan  stay  where  you 
are.” 

They  accordingly  went  in,  and  after  about  the 
space  of  ten  minutes  she  recovered  herself  so  far  as 
to  make  Hanna  repeat  the  intelligence  which  the 
simple-hearted  priest  had,  with  so  little  preparation, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


509 


communicated.  Having  listened  to  it  earnestly,  she 
laid  her  head  upon  Hanna’s  bosom  and  indulged  in  a 
long  fit  of  quiet  atul  joyful  grief.  When  she  had 
recovered  a little,  Father  Magowan  entered  at  more 
length  into  the  circumstances  connected  with  the 
changes  that  had  affected  her  lover’s  character  so 
deeply,  after  which  he  wound  up  by  giving  expres- 
sion to  the  following  determination — a determina- 
tion, by  the  way,  which  we  earnestly  recommend  to 
all  the  politicians  of  his  profession. 

‘‘As  for  my  part,”  said  he,  “it  has  opened  my 
eyes  to  one  thing  that  I wmn’t  forget: — a single 
word  of  p olitics  I shall  never  suffer  to  be  preached 
from  the  altar  while  I live;  neither  shall  [ allow 
denouncements  for  political  offences.  The  altar,  as 
the  bishop  told  me — and  a hard  rap  he  gave  Mr. 
M’Pepper  across  the  knuckles  for  Bryan’s  affair — 
‘the  altar,’  said  he,  ‘isn’t  the  place  for  politics,  but 
for  religion ; an’  I hope  I may  never  hear  of  its 
being  desecrated  with  politics  again,’  said  his  lord- 
ship,  an’  neither  I w^ill,  I assure  you.” 

The  intelligence  of  the  unexpected  change  that 
had  taken  place  in  favor  of  the  M’Mahons,  did  not 
reach  them  on  that  day,  which  was  the  same,  as  we 
have  stated,  on  which  their  grandfather  departed 
this  life.  The  relief  felt  by  Thomas  M’Mahon  at^d 
liis  family  at  this  old  man’s  death,  took  nothing  from 
the  sorrow  which  weighed  them  down  so  heavily 
in  consequence  of  their  separation  from  the 
abode  of  their  forefathers  and  the  place  of 
their  birth.  They  knew,  or  at  least  they  took 
it  for  granted  that  their  grandfather  would  never 


510 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


have  borne  the  long  voyage  across  the  Atlantic, 
a circumstance  which  distressed  them  very  much. 
His  death,  however,  exhibiting  as  it  did,  the  und}"- 
ing  attachment  to  home  which  nothing  else  could 
extinguish,  only  kindled  the  same  afFection  more 
strongly  and  tenderly  iu  their  hearts.  The  account 
of  it  had  gone  abroad  through  the  neighbourhood, 
and  with  it  the  intelligence  that  the  auction  would 
be  postponed  until  that  day  week.  And  now  that 
he  was  gone,  all  their  hearts  turned  with  sorrow  and 
sympathy  to  the  deep  and  almost  agonizing  strug- 
gles which  their  coming  departure  caused  their  father 
to  contend  with.  Bryan,  whose  calm  but  manly  firm- 
ness sustained  them  all,  absolutely  feared  that  his 
courage  would  fail  him,  or  that  his  very  healtii  would 
break  down.  He  also  felt  for  his  heroic  little  sister, 
Dora,  who,  although  too  resolute  to  complain  or 
urge  her  own  sufi[erings,  did  not  endure  the  less  on 
that  account. 

“My  dear  Dora,”  said  he,  after  their  grandfather 
had  been  laid  out,  “I  know  what  you  are  suffering, 
but  what  can  I do?  This  split  between  tiie  Cava- 
naghs  and  us  has  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  serve 
you  as  I had  intended.  It  was  my  wish  to  see  you  and 
James  Cavanagh  married;  but  God  knows  I pity 
you  from  my  heart ; for,  my  dear  Dora,  there’s  no 
use  in  denyin’  it,  I understand  too  well  what  you 
feel.” 

“ Don’t  fret  for  me,  Bryan,”  she  replied  ; “ I’m 
willin’  to  bear  my  share  of  the  afidiction  that  has 
come  upon  the  family,  rather  than  do  anything  mane 
or  unworthy.  I know  it  goes  hard  with  me  to  give 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


511 


up  James  and  lave  him  for  ever  ; but  then  T see  that 
it  must  be  done,  and  that  I must  submit  to  it. 
May  God  stengihen  and  enable  me  ! and  that’s  my 
earnest  prayer.  I also  often  prayed  that  you  an’ 
Kathleen  might  be  reconciled  ; but  I wasn’t  heard, 
it  seems.  I sometimes  think  that  you  ought  to  go 
to  her;  but  then  on  second  thoughts  I can  hardly 
advise  you  to  do  so.” 

“ No,  Dora,  I never  will,  dear;  she  ought  to  have 
heard  me  as  you  said  face  to  face ; instead  o’  that 
she  condemned  me  without  a bearin’.  An’  yet, 
Dora,”  he  added,  “ little  she  knows — little  she  drarnes, 
what  I’m  sufferin’  on  her  account,  and  how  I love 
her — more  now  than  ever,  I think ; she’s  so  changed, 
they  say,  that  you  could  scarcely  know  her.”  As 
he  spoke,  a single  tear  1‘ell  upon  Dora’s  hand  which 
he  held  in  his. 

“ Come,  Bryan,”  she  said,  assuming  a cheerfulness 
wdiich  she  did  not  feel, ‘‘ don’t  have  it  to  say  that 
little  Dora,  who  ought  and  does  look  up  to  you  for 
support,  must  begin  to  support  you  herself;  to-mor- 
row’s the  last  day — who  knows  but  she  may  relent 
yet?”  Bryan  smiled  faintly,  then  patted  her  head, 
and  said,  ‘‘darling  little  Dora,  the  wealth  of  nations 
couldn’t  purchase  you.” 

“Not  to  do  anything  mane  or  wrong,  at  any 
rate,”  she  replied  ; after  w‘hich  she  went  in  to  attend 
to  the  affairs  of  the  family,  for  this  conversation  took 
place  in  the  garden. 

As  evening  approached,  a deep  gloom,  the  conse- 
quence of  strong  inward  suffering,  overspread  the 
features  and  bearing  of  Thomas  M’Mahon.  For 


512 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


some  time  past,  he  had  almost  given  himself  overtc 
the  influence  of  what  he  experienced — a fact  that 
W’as  observable  in  many  ways,  all  more  or  less  tend- 
ing to  revive  the  aflection  which  he  felt  for  his  de- 
parted wife.  For  instance,  ever  since  their  minds 
liad  been  made  up  to  emigrate,  he  had  watched,  and 
tended,  and  fed  Bracky^  her  favorite  cow, with  his  own 
hands  ; nor  would  he  suffer  any  one  else  in  the  family 
to  go  near  her,  with  the  exception  of  Dora,  by  whom 
s’ne  had  been  milked  ever  since  her  mother’s  death, 
and  to  whom  the  poor  animal  had  now  transferred 
her  affection.  He  also  cleaned  and  oiled  her  spin- 
ning-wheel, examined  her  cloths,  and  kept  himself 
perpetually  engaged  in  looking  at  every  object  that 
was  calculated  to  bring  her  once  more  before  his 
imagination. 

About  a couple  of  hours  before  sunset,  without 
saying  where  he  was  going,  he  sauntered  down  to 
the  graveyard  of  Carndhu  where  she  lay,  and  hav- 
ing first  uncovered  his  head  and  offered  up  a prayer 
fur  the  repose  of  her  soul,  he  wept  bitterly. 

“ Bridget ’’  said  he,  in  that  strong  figurative  Ian- 
guage  so  frequently  used  by  the  Irish,  when  under 
the  influence  of  deep  emotion  ; “ Bridget,  wife  of  my 
heart,  you  are  removed  from  the  thrials  and  throubles 
of  this  world — from  the  thrials  and  troubles  that 
have  come  upon  us.  I’m  come,  now — your  own 
husband — him  that  loved  you  beyant  everything  on 
this  earth,  to  tell  you  why  the  last  wish  o’  my  heart, 
which  was  to  sleep  where  I ought  to  sleep,  by  your 
side,  can’t  be  granted  to  me,  and  to  explain  to  you 
why  it  is,  in  case  you’d  miss  me  from  my  place  be- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


513 


side  you.  This  unfortunate  counthry,  Bridget,  has 
changed,  an’  is  cliangin’  fast  for  the  worse.  The 
landlord  hasn’t  proved  himself  to  be  towards 
us  what  he  ought  to  be,  and  what  we  expect- 
ed he  would ; an’,  so  rather  than  remain  at 
the  terms  he  axes  from  us,  it’s  better  for  us 
to  thry  our  fortune  in  America ; bekaise,  if  we  stay 
here,  we  must  only  come  to  poverty  an’  destitution, 
an’  sorrow  ; an’  you  know  how  it  ’ud  break  my 
heart  to  see  our  childre’  brought  to  that,  in  the  very 
place  where  they  wor  always  respected.  They’re  all 
good  to  me,  as  they  ever  wor  to  us  both,  acushla 
machree;  but  poor  Bryan,  that  you  loved  so  much 
— your  favorite  and  your  pride — has  had  much  to 
suffer,  darlin’,  since  you  left  us  ; but  blessed  be  God, 
he  bears  it  manfully  and  patiently,  although  I can 
see  by  the  sorrow  on  my  boy’s  brow  that  the  heart 
widin  him  is  breakin’.  He’s  not,  afther  all,  to  be 
married,  as  you  hoped  and  wishe  i he  would,  to 
Kathleen  Cavanagh.  Her  mind  has  been  poisoned 
against  him;  but  little  she  knows  him,  or  she’d  not 
turn  from  him  as  she  did.  An’  now,  Bridget,  asthore 
machree,  is  it  come  to  this  wid  me  ? I must  lave 
you  for  ever.  I must  lave — as  my  father  said,  that 
went  this  day  to  heaven  as  you  know,  now — I must 
lave,  as  he  said,  the  ould  places.  I must  go  to  a 
strange  country,  and  sleep  among  a strange  people; 
but  it’s  for  the  sake  of  our  childre’  I do  so  lavin’  you 
alone  tiiere  where  you’re  sleepin’  ? I wouldn’t  lave 
you  if  I could  help  it;  but  we’ll  meet  yet  in  heaven, 
my  blessed  wife,  where  there  won’t  be  distress,  or  in- 
justice, or  sorrow  to  part  us.  Achora  machree,  Fm 


514 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


come,  then,  to  take  my  last  farewell  of  you.  Fare- 
well, then,  my  darlin’  wife,  till  we  meet  for  ever- 
more in  heaven  ! ” 

He  departed  from  the  grave  slowly,  and  returned 
in  dtep  sorrow  to  his  own  house. 

About  twelve  o’clock  the  next  morning,  the  family 
and  those  neighbors  who  were  assembled  as  usual  at 
the  wake-house,  from  respect  to  the  dead,  were  a 
good  deal  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Yanston  and  their  landlord,  both  of  whom  entered 
the  house. 

“ Gentlemen,  you’re  welcome,”  said  old  M’Mahon  ; 
“ but  I’m  sorry  to  say  that  it’s  to  a house  of  grief 
and  throuble  I must  welcome  you — death’s  here, 
gentlemen,  and  more  than  death  ; but  God’s  will  be 
done,  w'e  must  be  obaidient.” 

“ M’Mahon,”  said  Chevydale,  ‘‘  give  me  your  hand. 
I am  sorry  that  either  you  or  your  son  have  suffered 
anything  on  my  account.  I am  come  now  to  render 
you  an  act  of  justice — to  compensate  both  you 
and  him,  as  far  as  I can,  for  the  anxiety  you  have 
endured.  Consider  yourselves  both,  therefore,  as 
restored  to  your  farms  at  the  terms  you  proposed 
originally.  I shall  have  leases  prepared — give  up 
the  notion  of  emigration — the  country  cannot  spare 
such  men  as  you  and  your  admirable  son.  I shall 
have  leases  I say  jirepared,  and  you  will  be  under 
no  necessity  of  leaving  either  Carriglass  or  Aha- 
darra.” 

Need  we  describe  the  effect  which  such  a com- 
munication had  upon  this  sterling-hearted  family  ? 
Need  v/e  assure  our  readers  that  the  weight  was  re- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


616 


moved  from  all  their  hearts,  and  the  cloud  from 
every  brow  ? Is  it  necessary  to  add  that  Bryan 
M'JMahon  and  his  high-minded  Katlileen  were  mar- 
ried ? that  Dora  and  James  followed  their  example, 
and  that  Edward  Burke,  in  due  time,  bestowed 
Ids  hand  upon  sweet  and  affectionate  Hanna 
Cavanagh? 

We  have  little  now  to  add.  Young  Clinton,  in 
the  course  of  a few  months,  became  agent  to  Chevy- 
' dale,  whose  property  soon  gave  pro^'fs  that  kind- 
ness, good  judgment,  and  upright  principle  were 
best  calculated  not  only  to  improve  it,  but  to  place 
a landlord  and  his  tenantry  on  that  footing  of 
mutual  good-will  and  reciprocal  interest  upon  which 
they  should  ever  stand  towards  each  other. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  the  sympathy  felt  for 
honest  Jemmy  Burke,  in  consequence  of  the  dis- 
graceful conduct  of  his  son,  was  deep  and  general, 
lie  himself  did  not  recover  it  for  a long  period,  and 
it  was  observed  that,  in  future,  not  one  of  his  friends 
ever  uttered  Hycy’s  name  in  his  presence. 

With  respect  to  that  young  gentleman’s  fate  and 
that  of  Teddy  Phats,  we  have  to  record  a rather  re- 
markable coincidence.  In  about  three  years  after 
his  escape,  his  father  received  an  account  of  his 
death  from  Montreal,  where  it  appears  he  expired 
under  circumstances  of  great  wretchedness  and  des- 
titution, after  having  led,  during  his  residence  there, 
a most  profligate  and  disgraceful  life.  Early  the 
same  day  on  which  the  intelligence  of  his  death 
reached  his  family,  they  also  received  an  account 
through  the  M’Mahons  to  the  efiect  that  Teddy 


516 


THE  EMIGRANTS  OF  AHADARRA. 


Phats  had,  on  the  preceding  night,  fallen  from  one 
of  the  clifis  of  Althadawan  and  broken  his  neck ; 
a fate  which  occasioned  neither  surprise  nor 
sorrow. 

We  have  only  to  add  that  Bryan  M’Mahon  and 
his  wife  took  Nanny  Peety  into  their  service  ; and 
that  Kate  Hogan  and  Mr.  O’Finigan  had  always  a 
comfortable  seat  at  their  hospitable  hearth  ; and 
the  latter  a warm  glass  of  punch  occasionally,  for 
the  purpose,  as  he  said  himself,  of  keeping  him  pro- 
perly sober. 


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